


Spooky BAT Candy

by Gremory



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Androgyny, Art, Asexual, Asexuality, College Life, Coming Out, Coming of Age, Gay, Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, LGBT, LGBTQ, M/M, Murder, Painting, Photography, Scotland, Scottish, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, art student, gender fluid, painter, photographer, scottish male, spooky bat candy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:41:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremory/pseuds/Gremory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young Scottish photography student lacks inspiration but finds it unexpectedly in the arms of an American art student. Will their love blossom or will alcohol, jealousy and social stigmas poison the young men and destroy them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tide Brings In Strange Driftwood

The bitter gales whip all around the dark coastline, waves smashing into the pier with the ferocity of a furious titan, air saturated with salt as the gulls cry out, circling me as I haunt the pier, like vultures waiting for the reaper. Rain slices through the air like icy needles, soaking all in the dull indigo evening. Black clouds hang low over frustrated waters, cloaking the moon from wandering eyes and the twinkling lights of the nearby town are a comforting reminder that warmth is only a five minute walk away. I wander the concrete, lonely as a dead man's secret, snapping the turmoil below me, click after click. I grimace as a splash of brine blows up over the ledge, hitting me hard but I keep my resolve. This night will not pass me by.  
  
The moon begins to peer cautiously from behind the clouds as though it's curious who I am and why I'm out on a night like this. I snap a few photos of it but as I review them quickly, my lips purse together and I begin to chew on my lip stud. No good. The photos are nice but they don't capture what I'm after: the chaos of the storm.  
  
A gust of wind blows my hood down and I press my frozen knuckles to my lips in response. There's hardly any point in pulling it back up - after all, I'm already soaked to the bone, chocolate brown hair hanging limp in the rain. Shower-proof jackets are perhaps good in other countries but they can't stand up to Scotland's raw storms, especially in October when the temperature plummets like this. Not that I've really noticed a change in temperature this year - the summer barely made an appearance. I shrug off my frustrations, closing my eyes for a moment to let the icy water run down over my face and for a moment, I almost enjoy this experience, despite my red ears, numb nose, stiff knuckles. It's refreshing.  
  
"The things I do for my art," I sigh to myself, barely audible under the seething winds. I let the camera go and it falls to my chest, protected in its waterproof housing, with a wet slap. Tattooed fingers spread out towards the horizon, SAOR ALBA script grabbing at the distant islands, bones cracking quietly, painfully. I roll my wrists and resume my task.  
  
While bracing the October tempest would seem extreme for some, this is honestly nothing new for me, Gavin Ashmore, eighteen year old HND Photography at Dean College, Kilmarnock. If getting the right shots means I have to suffer a little, so be it. It's all worth it in the end anyway. The actual shooting part is easy. The hard bit is when I'll have to explain how I ended up in the middle of a maelstrom when it came crashing down on the coastal town of Ayr when all I was asked to photograph was daily life. I mean, to me it's simple - daily life is chaotic and what's more chaotic than a ferocious ocean? It's just trying to get the rest of the class to see it from my perspective which is hard. Then again, I've already got it all planned out - I'd searched chaos on the internet and decided to take a mythological spin on it after stumbling across a few pages about fairies and their ties to chaos. One trip to the college library later and I had all the arty-farty justification I needed. My photos will seem oh so esoteric. Hopefully... It's one of those things that probably sounds better in your head than it does when it comes out of your mouth.  
  
"Come on storm," I murmur to myself, "gimme the goods. Just a little more chaos is all I need. Don't let me down."  
  
This is my last chance to get the shots I need. Three weeks have already passed with the assessment creeping closer and closer but I couldn't give in to the temptation to go and photograph a busy street or a workplace. It's too easy. No, I had to be patient. I had to wait for the storm to come rolling in. Now, with only two days left until the deadline, my wait has paid off. With the tempest hammering down on me as if punishing me for trying to capture it, I'm quietly confident that I'll nail this assessment.  
  
I close my tired hazel eyes for a moment, enjoying the cold rain as it batters down on my eyelids. A few moments later and I'm squelching down to the end of the pier, eyes darting to and fro trying to find something - anything - that stands out but everything is being drowned in grey waves and frothy wrath. Another wall of brine slaps down on me and a burst of laughter ripples into the darkness. What's the point in getting frustrated over my physical condition? No, I tell myself, just keep smiling. For a moment, I recall the weather forecast from the morning earlier - light rain. Another belly laugh blossoms in the gloom - the rain's practically horizontal...  
  
Moments like this prove that it's good to be alive. A pale hand sweeps over my face, rubbing the salty water and rain out of my lashes. I'll find something - I just have to keep looking. Time passes and the waves keep rolling in, crashing against the concrete pier, splashing me, trying to weather my resolve and beat me down but I'm too determined to falter. After all, what's the common cold save for a few wet tissues and a sore throat? Nothing some lozenges can't solve.  
  
Two hours later and nothing save for over a thousand shots saved on the camera's SD card but nothing stands out. My earlier confidence is beginning to wane as I cast a glance at the time on the camera's menu. Shit. The last bus back to my town is in less in an hour and I curse my stupid last minute decision to not bring the car. I'd swapped my wheels for my small flask of cheap supermarket whisky. Time's ticking. My throat seems to tighten as I chew on my single lip stud. All these shots and nothing appeals to me... I lean lazily against the rusted metal railings that line the pier, lowering my eyes to the dark concrete at my feet - sprinkles of spat out and stamped in chewing gum dot the cement like snowflakes. Would that count as daily life? I curse myself for even considering it.  
  
With fifteen minutes to get to Ayr bus station, I shake my head, my body feeling clammy and cold, stomach clenching. I don't want to photograph the cliched busy street scene - no doubt that's what most of the class will have gone for - but time's ran out. Defeated, I turn my back to the raging ocean, casting my hazel eyes to the horizon. The pretty lights of the town glitter like stardust, bathing the sky in an ethereal orange glow. I pause for a moment, absorbing the beauty and then it hits me. I've been facing the wrong way all this time.  
  
Quickly, I roll the sleeves of my jacket up, cringing at the feel of the icy wet plastic against my skin, and glance out towards the ocean one final time. How could I not have noticed the light before? The copper shimmer fades into the leaden deep like blood spatter on a concrete floor - it comes in strong, flowing bright, purposefully, then slowly becomes lost in the iron skies. Remarkable how the light holds its ground in defiance of the shroud of darkness. Ayr is a monolith of order, standing tall against the chaos of mother earth.  
  
It's perfect.  
  
Hands numb, face burning cold and dripping wet, soaked to the core, I've found it - the calm serenity of a sleeping town fighting the wrath of nature. A couple of test shots later, some fiddling with the camera settings and I begin to capture it in all its raw beauty. I snap it a few times, making sure I had plenty of copies to work it and as I review the shots on the screen, I shake my head, brown hair falling into my eyes as beads of rain glided down, dripping onto the camera case. How could it have taken so long to find the perfect shot? I've been here for almost four hours, wandering and snapping. I rub my eyes a final time, hoping the cold will wake me up a little but it's been a long night and the weather started taking its toll a while ago. I need to get back to my flat and warm up. Still, the red, swollen hands, the tired eyes, the inevitable cold that'll ensnare me in a few days - all worth it. My eyes wander to the storm one last time as I mouth a silent thank you to the tempest.  
  
Darting through the empty streets of Ayr, racing for the last bus, my heart dances with excitement. I can't wait to see what my lecturer thinks of this fresh angle. Even if I don't get the response I want from Adriano, I know I'll get the response from my classmates - the usual groans and rolling eyes. The classroom's jealousy is a driving force for my art.  
  
#  
  
Monday comes with a nip in the air that rides alongside the fresh sunshine to greet me as I throw open my flat door and dance down the quiet close, footsteps echoing through the morning. I close my eyes, inhaling the sharp air, letting it chill my lungs - today's gonna be a good day. The final photo is loaded onto my USB stick, dangling securely around my neck on a silver chain and that Celtic library book is tucked away in my old raggedy red backpack. I'm feeling pretty positive today and it shows – as I glance at my reflection in each passing shop window, the tall, skinny guy, well groomed and styled, reeking of Ultraviolet, oozes confidence - I manage to resist the urge to chew on my lip stud. That's a sure fire way of people knowing I'm actually kinda scared inside. Though I'm pale the October nip gives my cheeks a healthy glow and with a chuckle I notice the 40mm black plugs poking out through spiky hair are practically dancing as I walk. Clasping my hands together, I rub the palms in the hope that it'll dispel my hidden nerves about Adriano's reaction. At the back of my mind, a fear that I've gone a little too off tangent pingpongs off my skull. I don't even know why I'm feeling so anxious about it - at least I'd gone out there and tried something a bit different. Anyway, if the worst case scenario happens and Adriano hates my photos, all I need to do is go and photograph that cheesy street scene and resubmit.  
  
College greets the students with an array of fresh posters advertising their annual Halloween party. I glance at them as I pass but my brain doesn't really want to register the black and pink mess of multiple fonts and bog standard clip art. I sail past them towards the elevator. My classroom is on the third floor.  
  
Seems like I'm the only one with some energy today - I waltz into the class with a horde of shuffling zombies at my heel. As I slide into my seat comfortably, I cast a glance around the room to see if my self-appointed 'rival' was here. He...wasn't? I don't know whether to feel overjoyed that my only competition was absent or disappointed that I won't get to see Alexander's work to quietly compare it to my own.  
  
Time passes, each second ticking away on the clock. The class register is taken and Alexander is marked as an unauthorised absence.  
  
Class begins with Adriano Alcheri, a tall dark haired man who smells like a strangely pleasant concoction of aftershave and coffee, instructing the students to choose a photographer from any field of work, research them and do a 3000 word essay on their work. I have no idea who to write about but I'm already thinking of a few different fields after some Google handiwork: astrophotography or medical photography. It's entirely different from my usual photojournalism essays but something entirely new will be more fun to write about.  
  
Deadlines hit at 10am. The usual routine happens - everyone sits about nervously waiting their turn to be called up to plug their USB sticks into the projector linked Macbook to show the class their work and talk for about five minutes. Today Adriano decides to start in reverse, calling the surnames from the end of the alphabet first, working his way up to A and, me being Mr Ashmore, I'm safe until the end of the class. Or rather, the rest of the class is safe from me going first and setting the bar way too high.  
  
My grin widens. I'm right about the class and their mundane shots - everyone's gone for the basic shit. A shot of some offices, a busy takeaway. Boring. Don't get me wrong, they're really nice shots on their own but that's just it - they're nice. They don't evoke any emotion in me at all, or Adriano either - I can tell by the blank expression on his face as he nods, making ticks on a clipboard. The only one who's tried to push the boat out a little bit has photographed some old rusted chains but she trips over herself when Adriano asks her to explain her thinking. The usual stuttering and mumbling. Why even bother if you can't justify it? This is why I wonder if half of these students really want to be here. It's always the same response; I photographed it because I thought it looked cool/nice/awesome. No real substance to their words or their thought process.  
  
Finally it's my turn. I leap to my feet, fix my grey sweater and dust down my black skinnies and dance up to the front of the class. I know I'm peacocking but the class set me up for it. They always do. No wonder none of them really like me. I don't blame them. Seriously though - out of sixteen people, I'm the only one who's tried something different and can justify it. How can you expect me not to be proud of myself? I work hard, I deserve it.  
  
The USB stick slots in and a few clicks later my shot is up on the wall, received with a few familiar grumbles from the lazier class members. I'd be lying if I tried to say I don't love this.  
  
"Interesting," Adriano nods in approval, his Italian accent drifting across the room, "so how did you take daily life and end up here, Gavin?"  
  
"Well," Fuck, there's the nerves. I automatically bite my lip stud as that familiar anxiety tries to rattle my confidence. I can't let it. I need to be a lion in a flock of sheep. I'm the one in control. I'm the one in control. Breathe. Easy, boy. "You told me to look at daily life and the very essence of life itself is chaos." A hand runs through my short, spiked fringe to ensure the fauxhawk style is still in place. Ah, fuck. My accent is too thick. I sound too common. Time for the newsreader accent, the Glasgow Uni. "Even in folklore, earth is associated with chaos - you just need to look at the Celtic fey mythology and the Unseelie Court to see this." What the fuck am I talking about? This sounded so much better in my head... "One of the fairie mottos was apparently change is good and they believed firmly that life was a whirlwind of uncertainty. This is what makes us humans so appealing and interesting to them." Not surprisingly, my words are met with a few rolling eyes but I stand strong, knowing that those little extra bits of research while sometimes pretentious sounding (always pretentious sounding to be honest) will always show them up. "Chaos is the ruling force in the universe." Sounding confident, Gavin. You got this. "Uncertainty drives us. It's our lifeblood. So," I raise a tattooed hand, saor alba streaking through the air as I point to the town in the image, "here we see chaos at its finest. A small coastal town still lies in midnight slumber as the approaching storm ravishes the beaches, yet life goes on." I cast a glance at Adriano and as our eyes meet he nods in approval of the explanation. Score. Turning my attention back to the image, I continue, "we as humans are able to ignore the wrath of nature because it's just part of life to us. Daily life. And thus, this is my interpretation of daily life - pure chaos." Deep breath.  
  
The class is in silence as they absorb the photograph for a few minutes - a sea of confused faces stare up at the crashing waves and the twinkling lights. Some of those faces are focused on me though, their expressions less than friendly. The thing is though, I know all too well that I can be a pretentious prick but damn it feels good.  
  
The silence is broken by a solo set of palms embracing each other as Adriano begins to clap. I turn back to face him and my cheeks begin to burn hotly. He's smiling, nodding in approval. Once more, I set to work on that lip stud, trying to hide the smug grin that's fighting to take over my face. I thank the class. As I'm about to close the image and pull the USB drive out, Adriano begins talking to the class;  
  
"How wonderful a little research is. I have never heard of this Unseelie Court. Interesting to make a link to fairies, no?"  
  
I nod to him, that smile bursting through. That last-minute decision to grab something from the college library's spiritual section has paid off. And then, without thinking, I say the most cringe-worthy thing ever.  
  
"Well, Adriano, you always say I'm away with the fairies." Oh fucking god, why? Luckily it's received well by his deep laughter and the groans of the class. I've been rewarded with his approval again. I chuckle quietly to myself, revelling in the attention as I finally unplug the USB drive and make my way back to my seat, feeling eyes upon me.  
  
The rest of the morning is spent feigning interest in everyone's shots as Adriano gives them all in-depth and sometimes painfully harsh criticism. His only fault with my image is that I've gone a little heavy on the HDR editing. While the others are being smacked down though, I'm too busy wondering what Alexander had photographed and planning out my essay.  
  
At 11:30am the class breaks up for a fifteen minute break. I grab my 5D Mark III camera and leave the room, making my way downstairs to the library, head full of ideas for my upcoming astrophotography essay. I don't have a clue who the famous photographers are or what equipment is used but that's half the fun of learning. I've always enjoyed space - as a kid, I'd had big dreams of joining NASA and becoming the youngest astronaut ever (because seven year olds were regularly considered for outer space, right?). The research for this essay is yanking that inner kid out, dragging him out by the ankles. Sure, he'll grump and groan now but when he actually gets into the research, he'll love it. I'll nail the essay again as always.  
  
With my head full of total shite from the day's praise, I'm too busy gloating to even register the crescendo of footsteps hammering down the hall in my direction. I reach the end of the corridor and turn straight into something hard.  
  
#  
  
My heart almost leaps from my body as a sudden surge of numbness flashes over me. I don't even register the pain until a few seconds later as it shoots through me like ice shattering. Fucking hell. I've just walked into an 18 wheeler. A crash echoes through the corridor followed by the loud bangs of shit crashing to the floor. Whatever the fuck just hit me has hit me hard. I manage to keep my footing even though I'm seeing stars - a cracking start to that astrophotography research! Reality sinks and I blink as I regain my senses. What the fuck? Shit! My camera! I grab it, checking it over for damage as quickly as I can, my heart back in my mouth. Please don't be damaged. I don't need this shit right now. If that camera is fucked then I'm fucked. I have a flat and a Corsa to run with a shitty student loan as my only source of income - I can't fucking afford another three grand or waste another three years saving up again. I'm not fucking downgrading after using this baby. No way - it's like going from a Ferrari to a cartie. No way. Thank god, my camera is fine. Deep breath, Gavin. What hit me anyway?  
  
I lower my eyes to see a guy about my age sitting in the midst of a confetti of books, rubbing his nose, eyes crushed shut. His caramel cheeks are flushed with either pain or embarrassment - probably both. How can a skinny guy like this have hit me so hard? Kid must be packing solid muscle under that baggy hoody. His hair is jet black, streaks of blonde spread through his long fringe and his jeans are way too tight to be socially acceptable. A pair of bright blue eyes glance up at me in confusion and a snow white yet false grin spreads across his face as he leaps to his feet, hastily grabbing all the book he's dropped. He shuffles them into a neat pile before speaking, "Oh my gosh, I'm so freaking sorry!" he flusters, his nose red with a little blood peeking out. He's American. "I didn't even know you were there. I'm so damn sorry!" He wipes at his nose again, this time with his bare hand. He notices the spot of blood, emits a hollow laugh and bites his lip. "Well, I'm bleeding. That's a great way to make a first impression, isn't it?" Certainly memorable, kid. "First I come at you like a freight train then I bleed all over you. How rude!"  
  
This falseness is on par with those talent show judges who've just broken someone's heart but are pretending they care. Everything from his smile to his laugh is just...fake. He looks like he's about to burst into tears. Poor prick's probably just mortified. I feel kinda bad for him. I offer him my hand and tell him not to worry about it. An audible sigh of relief dances into the quiet corridor as he goes to accept my hand, realises it's the bloodied one he's reached out with and shifts his books into that arm. He takes my hand with his left, holding me in an iron grip. Jesus christ - he's stronger than he looks.  
"Oh, praise the lord. I was so scared I'd really offended you," he says, shaking my hand quickly. I watch as his shoulders relax and another sigh escapes him. He lets go of me and composes himself. "I'm Ryan," he explains.  
  
"Gavin."  
  
"Nice to meet you, Gavin," he grins again but this time, his eyes smile too. "Is..." he pauses, lowering his bright eyes to the camera for a moment. His smile fades. "Is your camera okay?" My gaze joins his as we both glance down at the heavy camera around my neck.  
  
"It's fine," I assure him.  
  
"So, you're uh...a photography student, right?" Ryan shifts the weight of his books back to the original arm as he reaches around, shoving his hand in his hoodie pocket. I nod. "I'm surprised I haven't seen you around then. I'm an art student." He lowers the books a little, as if expecting me to look at what they are - I oblige and notice the top book - The Glasgow Girls. I have no idea what it's about or how it's even related to art but then again I don't know jack shit about the subject anyway. I'm only interested in photography when it comes to being creative. I nod, making an ohhh noise, pretending I know what it is and change the subject by asking him what level he's studying.  
  
"HND," he tells me proudly.  
  
"Same as me," I explain. Has Ryan only recently started here at Dean College? Or has he been a student from the NC and I've just never noticed him? I know I've never seen him before and I'm pretty sure I'd have heard his accent even if it was just passing him on the art floor. He must be a new student. Why would you come from America and all those unis and colleges to choose from and come here to Dean College? Kid must be insane.  
  
Before I can ask him how long he's been a student here, Ryan takes that hoodie hidden hand from the pocket, holding a mobile phone. He glances at the screen before hiding it again.  
  
"Look, I'd better get going - I'm already running a little late. It was really nice to meet you, Gavin, even if I did totally mess our first encounter up!" He grabs my hand again, shaking it enthusiastically and then squeezes past me in the narrow corridor, before darting off around the corner in the direction I'd came from.  
  
What a weird kid. He'd said his first meeting had been terrible yet he'd made an impression nonetheless. With a shrug, I turn back towards the library and head off.


	2. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gavin gives Ryan a quick tour of Kilmarnock and then has an unexpected visitor show up at his home.

 Honestly the college canteen is rarely a place of joy for me - it’s simply a place to eat and then leave as quickly as possible. I’ve never cared for the squawking of the crowds and their cliques - the clever kids all puffing up their self-important bubbles, the girls making no attempt to mask their attraction to the sporty guys, the nerds being shunned into a corner because they aren’t cool enough to take centre stage - it’s all just so fucking boring. And let’s talk for a moment about the horrific decor of the place: bright orange walls coupled with a green ceiling and pink floor tiles? It’s like something from the set of a preschool TV show.

As the grumpy red-faced dinner lady serves me, I let my eyes wander over the green plastic chairs and notice a secluded spot in the back corner where no one else is - everyone is too busy trying to be the centre of attention near the middle of the room and that suits me just fine. I settle on a portion of chips and cheese for lunch and shuffle over to the corner, slumping in the seat with a bored sigh.

College life is so dull outside of the classroom.

Lazily I poke at my food with the little white plastic fork and my mind begins to wander to the day’s events. I’d nailed that assessment as the class had expected. Feels pretty good. Today is just another nail in my social coffin but fuck it - I don’t care for the opinions or acceptance of the others. Seems like every time I get a bit of praise from Adriano, I get shunned further and further into the corner in the back of classroom. Maybe it’s just my imagination.

To be honest, when I’d started out at college, I’d been that shy awkward kid who’d craved the attention but the years have nurtured my Capricorn’s competitive streak. Now I’m perfectly comfortable knowing I’ve earned this solitary place at the dinner table. Don’t think for one minute that I’m lonely though - I’m not. One glance over the canteen at the various groups of misfits is enough to remind me to be thankful that everyone leaves me alone.

Some of my classmates are huddled around a small table on the far right, all laughing and exchanging pleasantries and I wonder if they even realise that the minute we all leave college in June we’ll be in direct competition with each other.

The fork prods a few more chips and lifts the layer of rubbery orange cheese off the top chips. I stare at it for a few moments, mesmerised by just how shiny it is under the light - it practically shimmers and glistens like wet cellophane but for all its blatantly artificial it sure does look delicious. A few mouthfuls later and my disgust is replaced with pure bliss. A hand reaches into my jeans pocket and closes around my phone - I sit it on the table and begin to do some research on the essay. Astrophotography, eh?

The sudden clatter of a plastic chair being pulled out and then the screech of the legs as they claw across the floor rips my attention away though. Someone’s sitting with me? Why? There’s a million other empty chairs. _Go sit your arse in one of them and leave me alone…_

My brow furrows in annoyance as I raise my gaze to see…Ryan?

“Hey dude!” the bouncy American grins. “You always look so scary or are you just practising that face for Halloween?”

I blink for a few moments, staring at him blankly. “Excuse me?”

Ryan’s grin progresses to a laugh as he sits his own little polystyrene container down on the table. “You look so grumpy, Gavin,” he tells me as he pops his container open revealing a baked potato and cheese - that same processed plastic that I was eating. We’d probably be healthier just eating the containers, to be honest. “I just thought I’d jump over and make sure you were okay.”

In confusion, I pout - do I really look that irritated? “I’m fine, honest.”

“You sure I didn’t damage your camera earlier? It must be a cracked screen to warrant a face like that!”

My eyes lower to my chips as I shrug my shoulders. “Did you just come over here to annoy me?”

“No,” he replies, his voice muffled as he begins to wolf into his food, “I’m glad I saw you again. See, I don’t have any friends here yet and well, my big brother used to be a model so I figured the photography thing could break the ice, no?”

“The ice is already broken.”

“Yeah but it’s not really though, is it? We’re just acquaintances. I wanna make a friend.”

Why me though? Of all the people in this college, all the hardcore kids or the pseudo Warhols who’re more on his level, he chooses me? There’s nothing cool about me…

I begin to chew on that wonderful plastic cheese again. “Well you don’t make friends by making fun of them.” Fuck, that sounded harsher than I’d intended.

Ryan’s smile fades as he pauses, fork in midair with a little bit of cheese dangling off like it’s about to leap to its death. I can’t take my eyes off the cheese, wondering when it’s finally gonna fall. The stringy bits that have already melted sway rhythmically and the more solid lumps cling to his fork for dear life.

“I wasn’t making fun of you.” Oh boy, - seems like I’ve annoyed him. He sounds pretty pissed now. Nice one, Gavin, you fucking idiot. “I’m an artist, not a comedian. I just observe things.”

“And I look grumpy?”

“Well yeah.” As soon as the words leave his mouth, that grin reappears suddenly and he bursts into laughter again. He’s winding me up. Of course he is. And I’m like a fucking salmon on the end of the line ready to be reeled in… My eyes do a full three-sixty as I shake my head - I don’t know what to make of this situation. I decide to humour the American further - surely a little conversation won’t be that bad? It doesn’t look like he’s gonna leave anyway.

“So your brother was a model, huh?”

“Oh yeah,” Ryan explains excitedly through forkfuls, “he was the face of T.Sang of London for a year.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Haute-couture label from New York. Don’t know why he calls himself T.Sang of London,” he tells me. “The designer wasn’t even English. I guess it sounds more fancy to him but I reckon the guy only spent like two months there on work so that must make me R.Speirs of Paris since I was there for a few weeks studying.”

My gaze returns to the dark haired American - he’s so animated when he speaks, hands swooping dramatically through the air, eyes wide with excitement, that glorious cheese flying all over the place. It’s kinda charming in a ridiculous way. I guess he’s just happy to have someone to talk to. Now I feel like a Grade A cunt for initially wishing he’d go sit somewhere else.

“What about you? You ever been on vacation anywhere?”

“Nowhere fancy,” I explain, “Had a caravan down in Sandylands with my family for a week but that was it.”

“Your surname was…?”

“Ashmore.”

“G.Ashmore of Sandylands sound good?”

The title catches me off guard - the forkful of chips I just shovelled into my mouth almost come straight back out as I erupt into laughter. Dammit, he’s making my angst-ridden photographer facade crack. Angst-ridden photographer, ha - who am I kidding?

“G.Ashmore of Sandylands? You for real?”

“Wow! He can smile!” Ryan’s eyes widen as his jaw gapes in fake surprise. “You should smile more often.” Dad used to tell me that practically every day before I moved out… Ryan tilts his head like a puppy as he smiles again. “Hey, Sandylands sounds nice. Where is it?”

“About fifteen miles down the road,” I chuckle. He pouts for a second then begins munching on his baked potato again and that awkward, weird lunch is how our friendship begins to blossom. We sit for ages talking absolute shite to each other but even with all his weirdness, he makes me smile which is, as you’ve probably guessed, a rarity. I guess I just appreciate that someone’s genuinely making an effort to get to know me.

We arrange to meet after college - I lazily mention how I wouldn’t mind getting another piercing and somehow that escalates to me agreeing to give him a tour of the town centre and showing him where the piercing parlour is as he fancies getting his septum done sometime soon.

Class gets out at 4pm as usual. Adriano’s surprised that I’m not staying behind to get my usual extra hour of study in before he locks up and heads home. I explain I’ve made a new friend - Adriano knows exactly who Ryan is though. He tells me that Ryan is one of the most talented students the college has ever seen. My left eye twitches involuntarily - a new rival? Then with a silent sigh of relief, I remember that he’s an artist, not another Instagram snapshot photographer. Even more relief when Adriano tells me that he’d love to see the two of us collaborate - he reckons that if we put our heads together, with our talents, we’d be going places.

Ryan’s waiting for me, sheltered from the bright winter sun by the dying boughs of the skinny trees arching over the college gates. A lazy wave greets me and we head off, merging with the river of students that pour out of the building on their way to the town centre. I only plan to show him around the shops - anything like the local parks or whatever can wait for another day when we’ve got more time.

The skies are already a dull denim and our breath dances as we walk together, hands nipping as the frosty fingers of October grab at us. I curse myself for not grabbing a jacket - the strange warmth of the morning sun has completely vanished now and I find myself with just a sweatshirt for warmth. Oh well.

The last shards of daylight begin to fade as we wander the town centre. The warm glow of the shop lights bathe us in their tempting embrace but neither of us have any money, save for my piercing cash, so it’s basically just a quick point and look tour. As we walk, we begin chatting about college - Ryan’s got a big sustainability project coming up and has heard his lecturers mention how the college wants students from different sectors to collaborate. I explain that Adriano hasn’t mentioned anything to us but I wonder if that was why he’d recommended Ryan and I work together in the future?

Ryan waits outside as I get my lip clamped and needled. A fresh new wound beside my existing lip piercing - a spiderbite, they call it. The piercer gives me the whole script about no alcohol, blah, blah and I nod and smile but inside, I’m thinking to myself _no alcohol? Sure…_

Ryan and I part ways at the bus station - he explains that he lives with his older brother in a newly built house over in Altonhill, a neighbourhood at the top end of town. I tell him that my flat’s in Dean Street, literally a five minute walk from the town centre. With that, we agree to see each other again at college. We quickly exchange Facebook information and say our goodbyes.

Friendship feels weird. I let all of my school friends go when I’d arrived at college. No idea why. The whole arranging days out and communication thing just seemed kinda tedious. I guess socialising has taken a backseat to my career and ambitions. Now my only friend is Adriano. We’ve formed a solid foundation since I’d started hanging back after class for extra work - in that spare hour, we chat mindlessly, exchanging ideas and jokes. Sad, isn’t it?

With Ryan safely on the bus back to Altonhill, I turn on my heel and begin the quick walk back to my flat. Warmth awaits me.


	3. Animus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan and Gavin collaborate and Gavin receives an exciting opportunity from Adriano.

 Warmth isn’t the only thing waiting for me - I’m met by a very unwelcome sight: my big brother.

Lee’s waiting for me in the entry of my flat, sitting on the cold stone steps, wrapped up in his usual hoody and tracksuit bottoms tucked into thick socks. The dim light of the close only accentuates his scar, the slice that ran from his right ear to the side of his lips. His jade eyes, tired and puffy, peer at me from underneath his dirty blonde hair, bleached tips almost white under the tungsten light.

The very sight of him fills me with that familiar dread I’d felt in the lead up to the indy referendum last year.

You see, Lee and I had been as close as we could possibly be until he’d announced his decision to vote no. Don’t misunderstand me here - it wasn’t his decision that had changed our relationship. I’m man enough to accept that no matter how close we are, how similar we are, we aren’t always gonna agree on things and something as tremendous as the future of an entire country is no joking matter. I won’t lie though - I thought his reasoning was fucking stupid. I still do.

Lee would talk of glory days and of being a soldier and fighting for queen and country, but the reality is that Lee only did four months of training to join the Royal Artillery and had given up. Of course, when that was brought up in our heated exchanges, it only made his rage more intense.

See, it’d been his conduct in the lead up to the historic vote. Every single friendly debate had turned into a vicious argument and to be fair, we’d both said things that were out of line but…well, while Lee had always had a temper, all of a sudden I infuriated him at every turn. Funny thing was, in the aftermath of the vote when he’d won, he’d never seemed happy about it - not even a smile. I think he knew it was a bitter victory - sure, he’d won but bonds had been broken. I haven’t seem him much since I’d had enough of his bullshit and shocked our parents by announcing I’d just accepted the keys of a flat. I’d kept my housing application secret. I knew it’d only make matters worse between the family. I’d waited until they couldn’t stop me and left.

And yet, here he is.

He greets me with a nod and a strained smile spread across his marked face. We don’t even exchange proper salutations as he gets to his feet, his knees cracking loudly and echoing through the building.

“Mum’s…” he shakes his head for a moment, “Mum and I aren’t getting along. I was hoping I could ask you to…let me crash for a day or two until she cools down.”

My eye twitches as I stare up at him. Seriously? Lee’s a strong guy, a gym fiend, and here, far from the guarding eyes of our parents, I’m not prepared to deny him, even if I want to slap some sense into him. What a cheek. Even in my own fucking home I can’t escape him… Then again, at the end of the day, he’s still my brother.

With a sigh, I sling my backpack down off my shoulder and unzip it, rummaging for my keys. When I find them, I catch Lee’s jade gaze, shrug in response and walk past him, unlocking the flat door. He doesn’t turn with me.

“So you’re just gonna completely blank me then, aye?”

“Lee, get in,” I growl.

“Wait, what?” His rough voice quietens for a moment as he realises I’m not denying him shelter. “Thanks…” The gratitude is strained, stifled but at least it’s there.

“I’m not gonna see you out on the street if the argument is that serious.” I explain, ushering him into the dark hallway. With a click, light floods in, revealing the laminate flooring and the magnolia walls. Lee gazes around himself, taking in his new surroundings. It’s the first time he’s actually set foot inside my new home. Not that I’ve never invited him - he’s just never wanted to enter.

We’re greeted by the trotting of tiny paws as Indy comes to say hello to us (no, he wasn’t named after the referendum - his first collar was indigo so he became Indy). The young ginger cat stops as he sees Lee but then his friendly and curious nature gets the better of him and he comes scampering up to rub himself on my brother’s legs. Lee bends down to stroke him and then stands back up, scanning his surroundings again. He becomes fixated on my best photographs, framed and hanging proudly on the wall.

“Nice.” He unzips his hoody and hangs it on the coat rack. He stretches for a moment then runs his hands over his red t-shirt to try to get rid of some of the creases on it.

“There’s some duvets in the boiler cupboard,” I tell him, pointing him to the door on his left. “I don’t have any spare pillows though.” As I take off my backpack and hang it beside his hoody, I realise I technically do have spare ones. “Actually, I can give you the other pillow from my bed.”

“Still nae woman yet?” he asks me, pulling out my spare winter duvet from the cupboard. I shake my head.

“No time.”

And that’s where the conversation stops for the time being - my ambitions and over-achievement are a tender wound for Lee who’d struggled at school. Poor guy has always lived in his little brother’s shadow. Lee has his own merits - he excels at sports and biology but he’s always been jealous of my creativity. I guess the referendum had just opened the floodgates for his other issues with me to come spewing forth. Still, blood is blood and no matter how fucked up our relationship becomes, we’re still family, and I’ll never see my brother without a bed for the night.

“You mind me asking what happened with mum?” I call through as he disappears into the living room to set up his makeshift bed on my couch. Silence for a few moments.

“I’m going to college.” His words catch me off guard. Lee has never been interested in college despite his envy of my achievements. He’s finally doing it?

“Good on you, mate.”

“Bah. Mum’s going fucking mental over it.”

“Why?”

“Says I’m twenty six now - I should already have a career.”

“Oh,” I fall quiet as I wander into my bedroom, casting a glance at the wall clock. It’s 7pm. Had Ryan and I really spent that much time wandering around talking pish? As for Lee, well…why does it matter if he’s got it all figured out or not? His army dreams hadn’t panned out but that could just as easily have been me with my photography dreams. Why does mum always feel the need to be a complete cow to him?

I don’t comment. I know that if either of us say the wrong thing or something innocent that can be taken the wrong way, he’ll blow up again, especially if he’s already feeling pretty rough. I let it go.

The night is quiet, calm and awkward. Lee lies in the living room watching videos on his phone and I snuggle up on my bed with my laptop researching astrophotography. Indy leaps up on the bed from out of nowhere, announcing his arrival with a curious meow. He flops on the bed beside me and erupts into soft purrs as he gazes up at me with that familiar adoration that so often clouded his little maple syrup eyes. I plunge my hand into his furry belly and pet him until he falls asleep.

Ryan adds me on Facebook and we banter idly for an hour or so before he logs off and I go back to my college work.

Lee leaves in the morning - mum phones him to apologise while I’m still asleep but he wakes me up before he leaves. I bid him farewell and as I close the door behind him, I ponder what he’s chosen to do at college. I should have asked him when I had the chance but I’d been too busy walking on eggshells.

For the next two weeks, college life is largely uneventful. Ryan and I continue to hang out as we’d agreed and that astrophotography essay…well I shoulda chosen a better subject. Information isn’t as easy to come by as I’d hoped it would be. I still pass though and that’s when Adriano reveals the college’s project to us.

“This is a live brief,” he explains, pacing the concrete floor in front of the projector, “so you’re actually working for a client this time.” Instantly, my face lights up with interest. “You’ll be working for the council - they want something to help make recycling appealing to young people like yourselves or even maybe younger. Collaboration is encouraged between you all but it’s not necessary. They were very vague about their brief - literally just “make it appeal to young people” so you have full creative freedom with this. Do what you will but have it done by the sixteenth of November. You have five weeks.”

This is my kinda thing!

That lunchtime, I tell Ryan that we’ve finally been told about the sustainability project - my objective is the exact same as his. After some more banter, he suggests that we should collaborate. I knew it was coming. I was hoping it was coming. I’m a little dubious at first, having always done things by myself but I realise that I haven’t actually seen any of Ryan’s work yet and I recall how Adriano had praised him. Maybe it’ll be interesting to try new things? We agree to knock our brains together - Ryan explains he’s going grocery shopping with his brother after college but he’ll be free afterwards. I invite him over, giving him my address.

The rain begins to fall that afternoon and I sit gazing out of the classroom’s giant windows, tapping my pencil off my lip studs as I jot down ideas. What can I do to promote recycling to kids and teens? A phone app pops into my head instantly. It makes perfect sense - everyone has smart phones. Everyone downloads apps. Why not do something - anything - that’ll translate well into an application? Maybe a little game or something? I don’t know how I’ll fit in as a photographer but I’m sure we’ll figure something out


	4. The Rain Will Come

Ryan appears around 6pm, soaked to the bone from the icy autumn storm. Raindrops drip down the tip of his nose as I usher him into the warmth of the hallway. As he removes his hoody I dash into the kitchen to grab a clean towel for him but when I greet him again it becomes pretty obvious that we need more than just one scabby towel. A clean jumper and pair of joggies follow. Indy shadows Ryan curiously, purring as he pads along behind the American.

Once Ryan returns from the bathroom with his new attire we spread out the new sketchbooks on the bare floorboards of the living room and get to work. We start off with mindmaps, each of us recording the discussion in the pages, noting down different types of pollution and the causes, then move onto solutions, finally getting to the fun part: our project ideas.

“Well the one I’ve been toying with,” I explain, “is a phone app.” Ryan takes a quick note of that and glances up at me, his eyes glistening with an eagerness to hear more. “I was thinking like instead of having just a pure information based app that it could be like…a game or something more interactive. Maybe aim it at kids, have a fish or something as the main character. We could have his home suffering the effects of water pollution and each level of the game you have to save one of his friends or something like that.”

Ryan’s attention turns back to his sketchbook but before he writes anything else down he begins to chew on his pencil attentively, “How do we make it fresh?”

“What do you mean?” I ask him with a frown. A smile touches his lips as our eyes meet.

“Well think about it. Our target audience is kids, right? If we go with a game?” I nod. “So how do we get it to them? How do they access it?” He sits up, scratching his chin with the pencil end. I give a quiet sigh as my eyes begin to wander the room, thinking of answers. They travel from the secondhand leather sofa - not entirely beaten up but obviously weathered - the half painted walls blossoming into the magnolia I’d chosen to try to brighten the place up but then gave up half way through. I spent most of my time in my bedroom so the living’s room decorating was something of a work in progress - it was the only room left unfinished.

Suddenly it dawns on me - the answer I had earlier today. “Well most kids nowadays have phones so -”

“I’m talking kindergarten kids. They don’t have smart phones. They have toy phones. So how do they access our app?”

“Their parents.”

“Or it could be some kind of school programme where it’s included as a fun way for kids to learn about the environment as part of their curriculum.” Ryan’s baby blues fall to his sketchbook again. His head tilts, lips pouting as he thinks about the idea some more. I’m surprised by the level of thought he’s putting behind this project - I thought a phone app would have been fine but he’s going in depth. He clears his throat before speaking again, “how do we make it more appealing than any competition we’ll face?” His eyes raise to meet me again and my blank stare tells him all he needs to know. That familiar grin I was starting to grow fond of spreads across his freckled face again as he chuckles, “you haven’t thought this through at all, have you?”

I shrug, “it was the first thing that popped into my head.”

“And the heads of all our classmates too, no doubt,” his smile fades and he lets out a sigh, beginning to doodle in the corner of his sketchbook. “Nah,” he tells me, “let’s go in a different direction.” Some arrows form on his page - they branch out into the other corners and he scribbles down some quick thoughts before that smile returns. “I’m an artist. You’re a photographer. Let’s play to our strengths. We’re not able to create an app.” The pencil rests on his page with a soft thunk as he runs both hands through his hair. His gaze wanders to the ceiling before he closes his eyes, releasing his hair, then he pulls the fabric of the jumper down so his skinny fingers disappear into the sleeves. He begin to tap at his lips in thought with his left sleeve. “I mean, sure we can design it and concept art it but we can’t code it. We can’t make it into a viable product.”

I shake my head in disagreement, “it doesn’t have to be a finished product though. It’s just a college project.”

“Yeah but you seem like me judging from the way you talk about college. You get excited for assessments and challenges. Therefore, I know you wanna stand out and go the extra mile.” He grabs his pencil again enthusiastically and begins tapping the tip of his nose with it, “Why walk in with ideas when we can walk in with something solid? Something our lecturers can hold in their hands and think wow? We’re capable of great things individually so imagine what we can do together.”

So what can we do then? My mind begins to run riot - recycling, upcycling, upcycling festivals and craft fares, recycled plastic bottle lamps and eco friendly stationary. Where the fuck were all these ideas earlier when I was alone? Maybe Ryan’s right about us being together?

We stare at each other for a few moments in the dim living room light, gazing into each other’s eyes. All I see in Ryan is hope and inspiration. His eyes radiate with an infectious creative energy that I’ve never seen before, not even in Adriano. He’s contagious. Already, a stream of creativity begins flowing in me that had been blocked off earlier. Even with the dull shadows strewn across his face, he shines. His smile morphs into a laugh as he tilts his head at me again.

“Y’know, I can’t think straight right now,” he tells me, “What d’you say we loosen the old brains up,” he drops the pencil and pokes his right temple a few times, “with some good old liquid filth? I fancy something Scottish - whisky or something? You can recommend. I haven’t drank in ages.”

A man after my own heart. Good stuff.

“Oh no. I know exactly what to introduce you to,” I grin.

Twenty minutes and two shiny new bottles of Buckfast later and we’re truly ready to rumble.

“Community art project,” Ryan suggests.

“Bespoke furniture - repairs, repainted, resold. Profits to charity.”

“Or pumped back into the community.”

“That works too. How about a mural in a high footfall area?”

He shakes his head, “I’d put it in an impoverished area. Not the town centre. So many people skip over the schemes.” We share another focused gaze as he explains further. “Look at the cities. A classic example is LA.” He bites his lip for a moment as he thinks, “Hmm…what do you think of when I say LA?”

I pause for a few seconds, my eyes flicking to my sketchbook before I take another mouthful of the potent alcohol. My eyes come to rest on that lip as I think. LA’s obvious - celebrity, flashing lights, wild parties, but when I tell him that, he starts to laugh.

“Hell naw, Gavin,” he chuckles, “it’s not all that. This is exactly what I mean - people skip over the true people and places to see what they want to see. No one wants to see the violence and the drugs and the underage sex and realise that the big cities are just like their own neighbourhoods. What I mean is, like,” he takes a quick slug of his own bottle, screwing his nose up as he gets used to the unique taste, “the focus needs to be on the reality and not the facade.”

This boy fascinates me. It’s curious how he can take what I’d seen as a stupid little college project and turn it into something on this scale as if it’s easy. I nod in response to him and jot down his ideas as he takes another drink - the Buckfast is a success. As I write, something crosses my mind - we’re both thinking a little too big.

“Mind you,” I drop my pencil for a second, grabbing my bottle again. The dark liquid flows down my throat as I gulp it greedily. Without even screwing the cap back on the bottle, I sit it down and continue, “there would be a lot of planning involved with a mural. I don’t think we’d be able to pull it off.”

The fire dims from Ryan’s eyes as he replies with a curious “Oh?”

“We have five weeks, right?” I raise a hand and begin lazily toying with my flesh tunnels, pulling the black metal clockwise. Ryan nods. “Well, first we’ll need to contact the council and wait for permission. I don’t know if we choose a place first and then contact them or if they allocate us somewhere. Problem with that is that we don’t where it’ll be,” I pause for a moment, giving us both time to scribble down my words. When both pencils stop moving and Ryan’s eyes gaze up at me eagerly waiting my next move, I continue, “If we get a wall and that’s a huge if, we need to plan our design according to the space. Also, where do I come in as a photographer? When you’ll be the one designing it and painting it?”

The American nod - he pouts for a few moments, obviously annoyed that the idea has been shot down but then that smile comes back. “See? I knew you could actually think!” He grins. I roll my eyes before joining his laughter. “So…what do we do now? We need to think of something else.” Ryan takes a few huge gulps of his bottle then lowers his head, ruffling his hair almost rhythmically as the alcohol hits him. He sways a little, laughs at himself for doing so, and continues playing with his hair as he becomes lost in thought. He picks up his pencil again but instead of focusing on his doodles, my eyes are glued to him. He’s definitely the spark of inspiration I’ve been needing. Having someone like this whom I can bounce ideas off of is already making my ideas stronger.

After a while, I realise I’ve been staring at him for an awkward amount of time but luckily he’s too engrossed in his sketches of happy cats to even notice me. I lower my eyes to the empty space on my pages - even with all our mindmaps and annotations, the pages still look so empty.

It’s pretty obvious neither of us have any more ideas so I’m not surprised when he breaks the silence.

“Wanna just call it a night and watch some Youtube or something?”

I brave another glance at him and notice that with the emptying bottle has come an alcohol fuelled hot flush - his cheeks are visibly pinking and his eyes are a little glazed. I smile at him and agree and we pack up our stuff, leaning the A3 sketchbooks against the radiator. As I go to pick up my bottle, my drunken grip loosens involuntarily and I realise with horror that the cap is still sitting on the floor. Ryan doesn’t even realise until he’s covered in the dark liquid. Oh shit. Before I can apologise, that familiar heartwarming laughter blossoms into the house as he wipes his face.

“Gee, thanks Gavin! That your revenge for me crashing into you?” he chortles, jumping to his feet. He sways but manages to steady himself before grinning at me and darting off to the bathroom.

And so I’m left feeling awkward as fuck with a carpet to clean so I set to it.

The night passes with mirth and merriment as we watch stupid Youtube videos, introduce each other to some of the more obscure channels we’re both subscribed to and drink more. He ends up staying the night on the sofa.

The morning crashes in with a great clatter - the windows vibrate, the bed shakes and a two second earthquake rumbles me and Ryan out of slumber as the couple downstairs wakes us with another one of their wonderful arguments. The door is slammed and the sound of the wife thundering out of the close echoes throughout the house. With an irritated sigh, I swing myself out of bed, throwing on the closest pair of jeans and t-shirt and head through to the living room. To my surprise, Ryan is already awake - his sketchbook is open and he’s sitting in his underwear and his original t-shirt, cross-legged on the floor.

“Oh hey,” he waves at me as I enter. I exchange his gesture and let myself slump into the sofa on top of the duvet. “I’ve been awake for hours,” he tells me. So he was lucky enough to escape the horrendous racket that woke me… “I think I’m on to something for the project.”

I blink a few times then wipe the sleep from my eyes, cringing as I glance at the living room clock - it’s half ten.

“Sorry about the neighbours,” I say, running my hands through my hair, tearing through the knots - I didn’t go for a shower last night so my hairspray is still holding the organised bed-head chaos.

Ryan shrugs in response as he smiles at me, “it’s cool, dude! By the way, I meant to ask you last night - you wanna go to the college Halloween party? I kinda wanna go but like…” he pauses, leaning back from his work, “I have no one to go with and it’d be so awkward just sitting by myself, haha!”

Without thinking, I nod, telling him I’ve never been to any of the college night outs anyway - it’ll be a good laugh.

Ryan grins at me and continues, “Anyway, I was thinking of like…um…a fashion project.” He screws his nose up for a moment then pokes his cheek with his pencil. “I mentioned my bro is an ex model and believe me, he has a powerful aura - he’ll be a great asset to us if he agrees. What am I saying? It’s Saffron: he’s a camera whore. He will agree, haha. So like, you’re a photographer so we can have a full fashion studio session and we’ll take old fabrics from like charity stores and garage sales and I’ll design new outfits. Saffy will model them for us, you take the shots and viola! We have Re:Style - up-cycled, sustainable fashion.”

Still half asleep, I begin absent mindedly poking my finger through my ear tunnels. Two cups of tea later and I’m beside Ryan, hunched over my sketchbook as the caffeine kicks in and I begin to wake up. His idea is perfect for both of us - it uses both of our skill sets and even brings in external help. When I’ve jotted down all of his new ideas, I can’t help but stare at him in awe as he grins, pouring his heart and soul into his sketchbook. His idea is flawless and I’m more than a little curious to see what sort of designs he’ll produce for the products. We agree that his brother will come in during our presentation and actually model an outfit for us while we talk about the brand and the concept.

Another assignment is gonna be nailed.

Re:Style. Recycle. Rewear. Reuse.

That’s all we have to work with at the moment. While Ryan has gone ahead and started sketching out some clothes and some accessories, I’ve been sitting twiddling my thumbs for the week, wondering when I’ll get to show him my strengths behind the lens. Ryan thinks I should be planning out the images but honestly, I want to wait and see what his brother looks like so I can utilise him in the best way possible.

All I can do for now is bide my time so, instead of waiting around, I turn my attention to the image of the project. We need to be branded. We need a logo, advertising materials, all of which I can do none. Great. So now I find myself hanging back after class for that little hour of extra work in Adriano’s classroom, slumped over a sketchbook trying to design a logo when I have no freaking idea what I’m doing. I don’t know anything about fonts or copyrights or anything that doesn’t involve a camera. Shit. At least I’m trying though, I guess.

“How’s that project coming along?” Adriano asks, his voice carried over to me by the jazz quietly seeping from his laptop as he sits behind his desk, working on…well, whatever lecturers work on. I scratch my head with my pencil and confess that I have a great concept but I’m banging my head off the first hurdle. “A logo, eh?” he takes a sip of his coffee and falls quiet for a moment. “You know, my friend has her own graphic design company. It’s nothing major - just a small studio in a nearby town - but they get clients from all over Ayrshire and further afield.” I watch him as he takes another sip. “I can do you a favour if you do me one.”

My jaw drops, eyes widen. Seriously? Fucking hell to the yes. Doesn’t matter what his favour is - if he can do something for me to further my ambitions, I’m down.

“Sure thing,” I tell him, “what do you need from me?”

He pauses for a moment, takes another drink, “I’m scheduled for a London trip this Saturday with my partner - starting our Christmas shopping early - yet I’ve been asked by Lynda to help her studio with a little product photography for a new client. They’re building the website and the client, being a small team of two women making small soft toys to order, aren’t able to provide the high quality product images that they’d like to present their items.”

I see where this is going.

“I fill in for you?”

Adriano nods, his dark eyes wandering to the rain-drenched sporting arena outside the classroom window.

“You do this for me and you’ll meet Charlie, Lion & Panda’s in-house graphic designer. I was to receive a small payment for the job - I’ll contact L&P beforehand and tell them that _this_ will be the payment instead. It’ll be an hour’s work for Charlie.”

I can’t believe my luck.

“A…are you sure about this, Adriano?” I ask him curiously. There’s no way it can be this easy, can it? He nods.

“You’re my star student, Gavin. I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, you know.”

I could leap over the desks and kiss him.

“Thank you so much,” I fluster, eyes wide with excitement. A few hours photographing some stuffed animals? Easy as pie.

“No, thank _you,”_ Adriano replies, a smile on his face. “I’d forgotten all about the arrangements with Lynda and was about to ask my contacts but I’d rather it was someone like you who filled in, someone who could do with some real experience.”

Score.

“So this Saturday right?” I confirm. The day after the Halloween party. I decide not to breathe a word about the logo to Ryan. I’m gonna surprise him with it. I want him to see that I’m thinking outside the box, that I’m actually trying, rather than sitting about and doing nothing while he does all the work.


	5. Alone Under Starlight

Friday night is swept in by a chorus of cackling witches and a hurricane of bats.

Clad entirely in black from my skinnies to my hoody, I head out into the bitter winter night. Well, I say night - it’s only six o’clock but it’s already pitch black outside. I meet Ryan outside the college’s student lounge and instantly realise, as we pass the huge NO ALCOHOL posters slapped all over the corridors, that this party is going to fucking suck.

And it does. We grab a seat on one of the old leather sofas in the student lounge and watch the little cliques playing pool or squabbling in large groups in their slutty costumes. There’s no music, no nothing. Why are we here again?

As if my night can’t get any worse, I notice Zander, my lovely little classroom rival approaching us, dressed like some kind of…male witch? I wanna say a wizard but his outfit is kinda girly so… Oh fuck. He throws back a chair and sits down opposite me and Ryan. Why the fuck is he-

“Hey Alex!” Ryan grins. You’re kidding me. They’re friends? Well, shit. I let my eyes judge over Zander - his bleached blonde hair, his brown eyes caked in…what the fuck even is that? Tar? Oh, it’s supposed to be spooky, scary Halloween makeup, right? Please. Stop trying so hard, son. I cross my arms and my legs, leaning back into my seat and instantly turn my head away from him.

I let the two banter between themselves as I begin to flick through Facebook on my phone. Nothing interesting is happening there either. Christ. It’s all just photos of half-naked girls I used to go to school with, captioned _town, here we come!_ I guess I’m supposed to get excited over that and sit slobbering at my screen like an idiot but the only feeling flushing through my body is disgust. I hate my generation.

“So what are you supposed to be?” Zander’s attention turns to me and I have to bite my tongue from replying _Adriano’s star student, bitch._ Instead, I smile awkwardly and tell him I’m dressed as a Dean College student. He laughs heartily, because apparently I’ve changed career from his rival to a comedian now, and turns his attention back to Ryan. He can keep it there. Not interested in feigned pleasantries with him. I’m not even interested in those slutty costumed students shaking their arses as they walk from group to group to flirt. Nah, this just isn’t me.

“You already sorted for the sustainability project?” I hear the blonde asking. My attention snaps to him and I have to stop myself from growling at him. Don’t even think about asking Ryan to partner up with you, Zander. Don’t fucking do it.

Ryan laughs and nods, explaining happily that he’s working with me. Zander doesn’t even seem phased by that and I have to wonder if he ever had any intentions of asking Ryan to work with him or if he was just genuinely curious.

It gets me thinking - why do I even hate Zander? The guy’s barely spoken two words to me in the entire three years we’ve shared a classroom. We’ve never had cross words or a passing glare. He’s just a guy who tries hard at his art, like me. Or is it that I’m such a shitty person that I can’t stand anyone who seems remotely _like_ me? Maybe he’s a decent guy and we’d get along great?

Anxiety begins to rise from the pit of my stomach and I try to combat it by twisting my lip studs round with my tongue.

What if Ryan decides he wants to work with Zander instead? I’ve seen the guy’s work - he’s pretty good, I’ll give him that. If he and Ryan are friends then Ryan’s probably already seen his photos. He hasn’t seen mine though. Shit, my throat feels tight. Am I seriously this petty? Where the fuck has that confidence gone? Funny that - I’m a cocky bastard until I’m faced with my rival. Now I just feel like a stupid wee boy. It’s like that time last year when he beat me by 2% in the Graded Unit. We both got A passes but he was a 98 out of 100. I was only a 96. It’s hard to explain to people why that’s a complete failure to me. It doesn’t matter what my grade is, as long as I’m on top, and for the first time since I’d started college, I’d been beaten.

“You okay, Gavin?” Ryan asks suddenly, “You’re face is bright red.”

I frown and tell him I’m too warm in this stuffy little lounge. He stares at me for a few seconds, blank-faced and then turns his attention back to Zander. My attention returns to my phone. I wait until Zander heads back over to his original group of friends and gently poke my elbow into Ryan. “Wanna ditch?”

He nods instantly, “yeah, this wasn’t what I was expecting. I don’t know what I was expecting, to be honest,” he shrugs. “Let’s bail.”

He suggests we go to my place or hit the town’s pubs but I have a better idea - I’ve still to show Ryan the local parks so I’ll take him an alcohol fuelled wander round the local Dean Park. He isn’t sure but the moment I mention there’s a castle, he’s sold.

 

The stars glitter like diamonds under the ghostly moon light as we walk closely together, breath dancing like ectoplasm in the quiet night air. The frost hugs us tightly, wrapping its chilled fingers around our bodies but we’re too hyped up to care about the weather. Under the glow of the orange streetlights, I lead Ryan down towards the country park, not a care in the world between us.

“This place is spooky,” Ryan chuckles, scanning the dark trees and gravelly paths before us.

“Well i t _is_ Halloween, after all,” I reply, taking the lead. We’d popped into the little shop two stories underneath my flat to grab some cheap cider - we passed my flat on the way here anyway.

Side by side, we walk briskly along the pavement, hands stuffed in our hoody pockets - I’ve got the flimsy little blue and white striped carrier bag slung over my wrist. Weird how I’d been ID’d but Ryan hadn’t, yet I’d say he looks a lot younger than me - he’s baby faced, only looks about sixteen or so. Or maybe it was because I was the one buying the drink. I don’t know.

A stream of vehicles rumbles steadily past us as I cut in front of Ryan to make the detour down the leafy path. He’s surprised - didn’t see the entrance hidden away under the dark trees but I know these streets. The area is split into two parts - on one side, the side we’re in, it’s just a little play park and a huge bit of spare ground that gets used for local football matches. On the other side of the road though there’s the castle - Dean Castle. It’s been here since the 1300s, I tell him, belonged to the Boyd family. I don’t know the history or anything but I promise to take him on one of the tours sometime as the castle is open to the public. He’s pretty excited for it. I never understood the fascination Americans have for castles. Ryan explains that it’s just a stereotype - he jokes that Americans are way too busy being selfish and policing the world to care, but he’s one of the few that actually has an interest in our history.

I lead him up the small wooded hill to my favourite spot - the bench that overlooks the play park, hidden away in the dark boughs of the trees. It’s a favourite spot for my self loathing - moments when I’m struggling for inspiration - this is where I come for clarity and reflection. Always at night. Always with the stars twinkling above my head like beacons of hope. We sit on the cold bench, the wood glittering with frost, and get our alcohol out of the bag. We start drinking, joking around and chatting idly about college for a while before my curiosity turns to his older brother, our model for Re:Style.

“So tell me about our model,” I say. Ryan smiles and lowers his head to watch his feet as he scuffs them off the gravel path rhythmically.

“Saffron is…” he pauses then takes a quick drink of his cider. “He’s a good person, Gavin. He’s really intense though. Quite scary. Can be intimidating but he doesn’t mean it. He’s got a heart of gold, really.”

Weird. I only meant what he looked like, not a strange profiling of him.

“What does he look like?”

“He’s got lovely eyes. Strange eyes. You’ll see what I mean when you meet him - they’re really pale blue, like contact lenses. Couple that with ashen skin and jet black hair and you’ll understand why he’s unique looking. You can tell he’s broken.” The statement catches me off guard.

“Broken?”

Instead of answering me, Ryan completely ignores my question. I ask him something else.

“You get on with him?”

“Huh?”

“Your relationship with him - is it good?”

He shrugs, “sometimes, I guess. I mean, I love Saffron to bits but…sometimes I…”

Sounds like me and Lee. I know how hard it can be so I don’t press him.

“Sounds familiar.” I reassure him. He nods and continues scuffing his feet.

“So what about you? What’s your family like?” he asks me, his gaze still fixed on his old Converse. I sigh and unscrew the cap of my cider again - I take a huge gulp, burp so loud it seems to echo through the woodland, which Ryan bursts out laughing at, and then answer him honestly.

“My home life was good until the referendum,” I confess. “It split my family right down the middle and I learned a lot of things about my mum that I wish I hadn’t.”

“Like?”

Jesus christ, Ryan, where do I even begin?

My mum and I have always had a rocky relationship, born from her always demanding perfection from me and my brother. The harder we worked and the more we achieved, the higher she’d set the bar. It was impossible to please her and so, Lee and I had gone from golden children, good children to let downs and vagabonds, in her mind. Lee can talk all he wants but he’s still striving to impress her. I reckon that’s what all this college shite is about - he wants to go there, get to uni, get a degree and get himself set for life. Whether or not that’ll be good enough for mum is, well, who knows? Me, I learned from my dad. He always told me that as long as I pleased myself, that was enough. Work for yourself and no one else. Set your own standards. So when report card day came or whatever, I didn’t give a fuck about mum - I was just happy to see my dad being proud of us. All through my teenage years, if anything ever upset me or worried me, I’d go to my dad. He was there for me when I fucked up royally and got myself suspended from school in 4th year for punching through a classroom door by accident - I’d went to knock the door but ended up putting my fist through the glass panel instead but that’s a story for another time…

I don’t want to bore Ryan with my life story so I just tell him the essentials about my family.

“Well, my lovely mother detests the disabled but the thing is, she’s disabled herself. She’s been in a wheel chair ever since 2012 when she was in a car accident. She’s angry that all the things she took for granted were taken away from her. Resents other disabled people - thinks they’re all lazy good for nothings,” I hear him gasp in the quiet night, “and fucking god forbid if Lee or I should ever turn out gay - another group she can’t stand - and don’t even get her started on transgender people. She’s so full of hate that it makes me feel sick just thinking about her. She was pretty hard on us before the accident but after the accident she completely changed. She’s angry at the world but her anger is all directed at the wrong people.”

“Saffy would love her,” Ryan laughs. “He’s a total social justice warrior.”

“It’s just like…growing up, I want to love her but I can’t, knowing the hatred she has inside her. She was the main reason I chose to distance myself from the family. My dad…dunno how he can put up with her attitudes. He’s a good man, a soft man as she always said. Sees people for people regardless of how they themselves or society labels them. As for my brother, Lee, he’s just misguided is all.”

“How so?”

“He and I clash a lot but there’s no badness in him. I mean, we locked horns over the referendum but he believed he was voting no for the greater good just like I thought I was voting yes for the greater good. I still believe strongly in it. The dream will never die.” I cast a glance over my knuckles, reading the _saor alba_ inked on me forever. “I can’t hold that against him. Thing is though, we fight a lot about other things. He’s jealous of me and my college success. Kinda feels like the indy ref was just a way for him to channel that hidden anger. Generally though, he’s a good guy. I just wish he’d use the energy he uses to hate on me to actually screw his head on. Like, you want to be someone? Go and be someone. Only you can make the change.”

Ryan laughs but there’s something…off about it. It’s a fake laugh, I think, a hollow laugh.

“Y’know, Saffron spent years telling me that too. All my life I lived in his shadow. His career took off, he shot through the skies but even stars have to fall sometimes. I spent all my life being jealous but when he went to prison I picked up the paintbrush. I started training, got into kickboxing, started doing something with myself. It paid off. Kinda makes me wonder how good I’d be if I’d started earlier, when he’d told me to.”

Saffron was in jail? I want to be nosey and ask the ins and outs but I need to be respectful here - if Ryan wants to tell me, he’ll tell me. Time passes. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Silence. He doesn’t wanna elaborate. Fair enough. Instead, he clears his throat, takes another drink and then tells me a little more about himself.

“I used to live near Venice Beach with my mom and Saffy. LA born and bred. Got some family out in Florida though - had a sister too but she turned out a teenage runaway. Mom knew she was safe and I guess that’s all that ever mattered because we never chased after her. My dad, well, that’s a sadder story.” He pauses as if he’s gonna tell me about it but thinks the better of it and just continues on with a lighter tone. “Saffron hit the jackpot - he was a fresh sixteen when his band got noticed. Six months later and they’re signed. He hits it off big time then blows it all two years later.”

Fuck, now I really wanna stick my nose in. I can’t. Don’t think we know each other _quite_ well enough yet to be sticking our noses into each other’s family business. Pretty cool that his brother was in a band though - I’m looking forward to hearing more about that in the future.

“So, Mr Photographer, tell me about your craft,” Ryan laughs, his bright eyes turning towards me. “What made you interested in photography?”

I lower my gaze to the neck of my bottle and give it a few moments thought. Never really knew what made me pick up the camera - I just did. There’s not really any reason for it. It just felt natural. I tell him this and then ask him about his art.

“Always liked painting,” he tells me. “In fact, my very first memory of Christmas is unwrapping a little wooden box of paints. My parents were flat out broke back then - I mean _really_ broke - so it was just brown parcel paper and string but it was the best gift I ever got.” His eyes become a little hazy as he begins to reminisce. “Back in Cali, a lot of people at my high school didn’t like me because I was talented - they resented that I’d just woken up one day with this great gift from God but they thing is, they never knew about the years and years of constant frustration and the amount of blood, sweat and tears. Kids would be out playing but I’d be slumped over my little plastic desk pouring my heart and soul into the shitty paper.” A smile graces his face as he turns his head to me. “So, tell me about this referendum.”

Random question but okay.

“I,” I pause for a moment - I don’t know where to begin. Guess I’ll just skip all the run up to it and tell him the aftermath, “I have never felt as empty as I did that early morning, watching the results pour in.” I tell him softly. “I sat up all night with a bottle of whisky ready to celebrate - we were so sure we’d won it, that people had seen sense and were finally going to step away from this warmongering cesspit of a government,” I sigh deeply, raising my eyes to those little sparkling stars. “No more nukes - can you imagine a world like that? I honestly hoped that by removing Trident, we’d set the world in motion. Other nations would look at this small country and think “if they can do it, so can we”. We would have walked into a better tomorrow.” Ryan’s eyes are on me, staring intently. I wonder what his opinion is on the referendum - probably wanted us to stay with the UK. Always thought that was a bit hypocritical - Americans telling us to stay with the UK. Short memory there, lads, eh? “All dreaming aside, it broke my heart that night to watch the live newsfeed coming from George Square. How can you have the audacity to call yourself Scottish when you’ll stand in our cities and burn our flags? I felt fucking sick - I cried for hours. I’ve never felt like that before.” I pause, taking a few moments to catch my breath. “I feel like we Scots are second class citizens and it’s not just us - it’s anyone who’s not part of the elite, whether English or Welsh or whatever. This isn’t a united kingdom. You have four beautiful countries ruled by one city. What’s that all about?” I stop again, breathing another sigh, “Its not just about Scotland - I think we should all be independent. Scotland, England, Wales, Northern Ireland. We all have rich and unique heritage and history and we should all have our own places on the world stage.”

I hear Ryan’s laughter spill into the quiet night. He smiles at me, a certain softness in his gaze.

“You know, Gavin, the referendum is what made me come to Scotland,” he explains. I return his stare, frowning a little in confusion. He elaborates, “when Saffron was released, our family situation was fucked up. When he sorted out his issues with mom, he sat me down and told me he wanted a fresh start somewhere. I thought he meant another town or city but he meant a completely blank canvas - he wanted another country. How could I, as a young artist, turn an opportunity like that down?” Almost in sync with each other, we take a drink. “He let me choose where to go and when I looked at the map, two places seemed the most interesting - Scotland and Catalonia. The atmosphere is so politically charged, the people are so aware, it’s so exciting. This country is alive with all these bright minds bouncing ideas off each other - every teen is aware of politics and social issues. It’s fantastic.” Well, Ryan, I don’t know what you’re seeing but for a lot of us, regardless of which side we were on, all that energy died on September 19th 2014. Or did it? I don’t know. He’s got me thinking again. Maybe I miss it because I live it. It’s around me constantly. “I’m a politically motivated painter,” he tells me, his hands becoming animated as he talks of his work, “I create pieces that showcase social issues whether it be racism or economic crises or equality. I want to speak to a larger audience than I could get by posting blogs or vlogs. I want to evoke emotions in people. It made perfect sense for me to come here, to tap into this great energy. I haven’t felt this inspired in a long time,” he grins and I smile back at him but it’s a half-hearted smile. It’s kinda nice to see someone still feeling that pulse but for me it died a long time ago. I’m kinda jealous of him. I cast another glance over my knuckles and read those words - saor alba. It means ‘free Scotland’.

Enough politics for now.

I turn the conversation back to college life but as we get more drunk, the conversation turns to some weird shit - aliens and ufos, ghosts, cryptids and demons. This kid is a regular dreamer but according to him, so am I. He’s telling me all about this one time when he was six, he’s certain he saw one of the ‘shadow people’ in his room. I go along with it - it’s Halloween after all - but I don’t know anything about any shadow folk. We banter into the next morning - when I check my phone, it’s 2:30am. Time to get our arses back home, especially as he starts to get tired and ends up with his head on my shoulder, barely grasping consciousness.

“You crashing at mine tonight?” I ask him. He shakes his head slowly.

“I promised Saffy I’d be home.”

“I’m not letting you walk home at this time, especially drunk. You’re coming with me.”

He laughs as he sways out of the park at my side. When we reach the main road, he glances out in the direction of his house and is about to put a step forward when he changes his mind at the last second.

“Okay, you win.”

With him on the couch again and me and Indy snuggled up in my room, we call it a night. A good night.

 


	6. Old And New

I rise from the dead groggily, rubbing at my eyes, throat parched. Tea. I need tea. My morning routine dictates I check my phone before I do anything though and that’s when my stomach crashes through the floor.

_Hello Gavin, are you turning up today?_

It’s Adriano. Fuck! Today is the photoshoot!

Before I even register what I was doing, I batter his number onto the touchscreen. I have the phone glued to my ear, held in place by my shoulder, as I flail around the room wrestling with my skinny jeans. He answers after a few rings and before he can even ask me what the issue is, I’m talking at a hundred miles per hour.

“Hi, Adriano? Yeah, yeah. I completely forgot about the shoot today, I’m so sorry! I got caught up in the Halloween buzz last night.” Adriano asks if I’m hungover – do I need time to recover? He doesn’t even sound mad – he’s joking around with me which is a relief. “Yeah, no, no, I’ll be fine, honestly! I’m just gonna head out for the bus now!” I put the phone on loudspeaker and throw it on my bed as I begin to fight with my old grey jumper - the one with the studded sleeves and the black inverted cross on it. In the living room, I hear the faint groans and moans of Ryan waking up. “Aw, fuck!” I yell suddenly as I grab my wallet. “I need to go draw cash out for the bus! Oh, shit, sorry, sorry. I don’t mean to swear but oh my god. Right, sorry, sorry!”

“Gavin, it’s okay!” his voice reassures me, “I’m not heading out until the afternoon. I can pick you up to save time.”

I agree and give him my address.

I guess on the plus side, I don’t need to worry about my camera equipment - it’s always charged up, ready to go. I keep everything in my old Lowepro camera bag - lenses, spare battery, extra memory cards, filters, etc, and of course my Canon itself.

Adriano tells me he’ll be around ten or fifteen minutes so I quickly run the straighteners over my hair to spike it up, grab my thick rimmed black glasses (which I’m technically supposed to wear all the time but rarely ever do…) and head through to the living room. Ryan is sitting in a ball of duvets and throws, his head in his hands.

“You rough too?” I smirk as I pass him – he raises a hand and waves it at me, dismissing me.

“There’s a goddamned rodeo going on in my full body right now,” he groans.

“Go and stick your fingers down your throat,” I tell him, raising my voice slightly as I head into the kitchen and flick the kettle on. “Trust me – if you feel like you’re gonna throw up, just get it over with. I’ll make you a cup of tea and there’s some liver salts in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet if you need them.”

“Thanks, man,” with that, I hear him stagger out of the living and down the hall, followed by the unfortunate sounds of him gagging.

When he returns, we sip our tea in silence until he clears his throat.

“I had a lot of fun last night, Gavin. Thank you.”

“Thank me for what?” I ask him, a smile breaking out on my face. “Yeah, it was quite fun. That party was absolute bollocks though, mate.”

He nods. “Yeah… I mean, like, thanks for putting up with me when I’m drunk. I know I talk a lot of shit when I’m crunk as fuck.”

“I thought you were pretty interesting when you opened up.”

“I don’t even wanna know what I was saying,” his face is bright red, eyes glued to the steaming mug in his hands. I begin to chuckle quietly – _someone_ ’ _s_ suffering the shame of not remembering most of his night out, haha!

“Well, we talking about fucking…aliens, ghosts, demons,”

He cuts me off. “Wait, actually fucking them? What?”

I shake my head. “Nah man. It’s like a form of punctuation here.”

“Cursing?”

“Yup.”

“Okay…”

“So anyway, Bigfoot, the indy referendum, our families, etc. Then you started going on about your art and it was really cute.” _Did I actually just fucking say that?_

“Cute?” he frowns as he takes a sip of his hot tea.

“I don’t mean like that – I mean, like, the way you got all animated and super excited was…”

“Was?”

Um… I don’t even know what to say.

“Inspiring?”

“Inspiring.” He nods, taking another drink.

I’m about to dig myself an even deeper hole but I’m saved by the horn from Adriano’s car.

“Well, that’s me off then,” I say, quickly roasting my throat as I down my hot cup of tea as fast as I can and instantly regretting it. “I’m doing a product photoshoot this morning. You’ll still be here when I get back, right?” Ryan nods and emits another groan as he lowers his head. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

As I batter down the apartment building stairs, camera bag slung over my shoulder, I can’t help but wonder why I said he was cute. It wasn’t the word I was looking for but it was the first thing that came to mind. I hope Ryan just brushes it off but a part of me in starting to worry in case he overthinks the simple statement and starts feeling awkward.

In the car, Adriano banters with me as we drive out to Prestwick – a nearby little town where Lion & Panda is located. Before we go to our destination though, we stop at a passing ATM and  I run over to draw out some money for the bus back home. I coulda saved myself some cash by not drinking last night and driving out here but fuck it – it was Halloween night.

To my surprise, the studio isn’t on the main streets – it’s in a little back alley. As we trundle into the area, I make a mental note of the layout of the streets so I can see how to get back to the bus stops. Adriano comes in with me and I’m surprised at how clean the inside is compared to the outside. The stairs leading up to the second floor are all freshly carpeted and the entire place has that weird but pleasant office smell. Lion & Panda is sealed away from prying eyes behind two big pine doors that remind me of the kinda doors they had in the older building of the secondary school I attended. In fact, the entire building interior kinda reminds me of a school. I discover that the building is actually a shared collective of several small businesses.  As we pass some of the closed doors branching off from the main corridor, I notice signs for a letting agency, a beautician, some kind of electrical contractor – there’s a whole bunch of random industries operating in here. I wonder if Lion & Panda designed any of their logos.

We come to the doors for the studio and Adriano knocks first before entering. When we do, my ears are assaulted by a chorus of salutations. The studio is huge and spacious – there are a couple of expensive looking computers dotted around in the corners, a huge conference table in the centre of the room and the high walls are covered in murals and motivational posters.

I’m greeted to the team one by one.

There’s Muriel, a rotund little elderly lady clad in an eyesore of a dress that looks like a pair of old curtains. She apparently deals with the finances and general secretarial work. She peers up at me through her weird triangle shaped glasses as she shakes my hand with an iron grip.

Next up is Lynda herself, the owner of the business. She’s a little overweight with long brown hair and warm eyes – taller than me and clad in burgundy jeans with an emerald shirt and brown leather boots.

A nerdy looking twenty-something blonde is next to greet me – he’s wearing a plaid shirt, jeans somehow even tighter than mine, a full beard and one of those irritating little man buns. He explains he’s Taylor – he deals with social media and accounts and sometimes he designs the odd website, depending on how busy the in-house designer is.

As they bombard me with information about themselves and their jobs, I have to wonder why – I’m literally just here to photograph some stuffed animals and then I’m gone again. There’s no need to be treating me as if I’m joining their team…

The last person to meet rises like a short zombie from behind a massive computer monitor and shuffles over to me. It’s Charlie – the designer Adriano had mentioned. She’s a small, skinny girl with really short brown hair and glasses. I would honestly have mistaken her for a preteen boy – she’s wearing an oversized hoody that hides the shape of her small frame and the dark circles under her cheerful eyes tell me she works hard at her craft – I can respect that. She reaches for my hand and I shake it gently. She’s so tiny, almost like a doll – I’m a little afraid of breaking her.

“Hey,” even her voice is quiet. She gives me a little wave with her free hand and then shuffles back over to her computer. “Adriano has already told me about the project. What’s your aesthetic?”

“My…aesthetic?”

“What look are you going for?”

I shrug, “I kinda forgot to consult with my partner on it, sorry.” It doesn’t seem to be a problem as those little glasses peer over the monitor, scan me up and down, and then disappear again.

“I’ll base the aesthetic off your own style.”

Sure, cool I guess.

The job itself is piss easy – Adriano sets up some studio lights and hands me a bag of stuffed toys. He tells me to upload the images onto Lynda’s computer and she’ll transfer the images over to Charlie later. Nice – I don’t even have to edit them. It’s ten minutes of work so I dick around for an hour while Charlie works on her design. Occasionally she calls me over to get my thoughts on her work so far – she’s going for a slightly gothic look. Weird, I don’t think I look gothic at all? Or maybe it’s the ‘alternative’ look? I don’t know.

Taylor shouts me over and starts showing me what he does – he explains some viral marketing ideas but it’s all over my head. He smells lovely – I have to bite my tongue to not ask him what aftershave he’s wearing. I kinda want a bottle of it myself.

Adriano offers me a run home – he needs to head back anyway as he’s departing from Glasgow Airport at half two in the afternoon. Charlie takes note of my email and sends me the final logo. She was eager to design a few alternatives but I explain it’s just for a college project and we’re happy with anything. The final logo is quite gothic looking with medieval text coupled with modern text – old and new. I love it. It fits the idea of taking something old and reworking it into something up to date and modern. Perfect! I thank her for her work, say my goodbyes to the studio staff and jump back in Adriano’s car. As we drive, he jokes with me not to breathe a word of our little expedition to the rest of the class because they’d all cry favouritism. My lips are sealed – they always were.

Ryan is properly dressed again when I get home. I drop him a text as I’m approaching the house and I’m pleasantly surprised to find him sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea ready for me. I fire up my laptop and throw myself down beside him, legs crossed, laptop resting on my lap.

“I’ve got something for you,” I tell him excitedly. He tilts his head curiously, eyes sparkling again now that he’s freshened up from last night’s antics. As soon as he sees the logo flash up on the screen, he starts gushing with excitement.

“Dude! Did you have to pay for that? Holy crap!”

 I shake my head, “See that photoshoot this morning? This was my payment.”

We exchange a confident grin – this is gonna be great.


	7. Claws

I take another sip of my hot café mocha and glance up at Ryan. He’s sitting across from me in the brightly lit little coffee shop where he’s arranged to meet up with Saffron, his older brother, our model.  The pair live together, Ryan tells me, but Saffron is quite antisocial, whereas Ryan is always out and about exploring the town.

The coffee shop is cosy – it’s brown and cream décor gives it a homely feel and the staff were always super friendly. I’ve been here a few times in the past with Lee or old school friends before we all went our separate ways.

I study Ryan as he pokes his sandwich before taking off his hoody and hanging over the back of his chair. His sketchbook is beside him. He turns back to me and notices my spaced out gaze.

“Hello? Earth to planet Gav?” A wand is waved in front of my face and I shake my head, closing my eyes for a moment as I snap back to reality. Just then, the coffee shop door dings as the little bell above it is triggered. I turn my head and my jaw drops. Literally.

A tall, willowy figure glides into the room, clad in black with long, feathery raven hair. He’s slender, almost feline. His classy high-collar coat rests just above the knees of his black skinny jeans and his studded boots jingle with every step he takes towards us.

He’s absolutely gorgeous and I can say that objectively. As he sits down beside Ryan, I take a moment to steal a good look at him – his silky black hair falls loosely about his pale complexion and like his little brother, the same freckles dot across his cheeks. His icy blue eyes aren’t as bright and energetic as Ryan’s – there’s a certain coldness in his gaze.  I wonder if that’s what Ryan meant by ‘he’s broken’?

Being completely honest, if Ryan hadn’t described Saffy’s unique eyes, I would never have guessed that he was Ryan’s brother when he entered the shop. Save for the black hair and freckles there’s practically no resemblance between the two.

His frozen gaze locks onto me and I suddenly feel nervous as fuck – I feel like I’m being judged even though the guy is probably just taking in my appearance without being rude. He smiles at me but his eyes don’t follow and that unnerves me slightly. There’s something almost mythical about his appearance – perhaps that’s why he’s making me nervous? He has an air of vampire about him but that’s probably just the sophisticated goth image he’s rocking.

“Saffron Speirs,” he tells me, his deep voice blossoming into the silence like a drop of ebony ink in a glass of water. “You’re the Gavin I’ve been hearing so much about.” He holds my gaze like a demon. He’s confident to the point of being overbearing but it’s beginning to excite me. He’ll be fucking amazing as a model if he’s this commanding in real life. That ashen skin is practically porcelain under the coffee shop lights; he’ll look ethereal under studio bulbs. Holy shit. Ryan was not fucking around when he told me Saffron would be an asset to us.

“This kid,” he motions to his brother and I notice his nails are painted matt black – nothing unusual for a goth guy but his nails are long and fashioned into claws and I notice he has them painted up with…occult symbols? It’s hard to fully study them as he moves but they look pretty wicked, in both senses of the word. “This kid will not shut up about you and I mean that.”

Ryan’s face erupts into violent blush as he begins to eat his sandwich, pretending he doesn’t care about Saffy’s teasing.

I laugh a little but I’m kinda entranced by him.  I need to snap out of it and fast or he’s gonna think I’m a little too interested in him.

“Can I get you a coffee or a cup of tea?” I begin to rise to my feet as I reach into my jean pocket taking out my wallet. He waves a hand.

“No thank you – I’m vegan so I’ll pass.” As soon as I go to sit back down, he pouts slightly. “Actually, I’ll take a filter coffee, please. Thank you.”

I nod and head over to the counter leaving Ryan to brief him on our progress with the project so far. A few minutes later and I return to the small table. Ryan looks annoyed already. I sit Saffron’s coffee down on the table and he thanks me again before motioning for me to sit beside him instead of Ryan. I oblige and his aftershave almost knocks me out. It’s powerful but it smells…exotic and dark. Okay, he wins the aftershave competition. Sorry, Taylor.

“I was just saying to Ryan that these clothing designs,” a long clawed finger circles Ryan’s sketchbook before landing on one of the t-shirt designs, “are garbage.” I take the few seconds to register what was actually on his nails – the one resting on the page is painted up like a Ouija board and there’s some little metal studs on there too to add detail.

Ryan exhales sharply and raises his shoulders in a frustrated shrug.

“What is it you don’t like?” he asks his older brother. Saffron’s icy eyes remain on the sketches as he begins to shake his head, black hair dusting his shoulders.

“Literally everything,” he states. “What exactly are you both aiming for here?” He turns his attention to me and those cold eyes lock with me as he awaits a response. I blurt out the first words that come to mind.

“Well it’s clothing made from recycled materials.”

“I know that but what is it you want from this? Another run of the mill t-shirt company or something that stands out and is more upmarket?”

I hear Ryan emit a ‘huh’ noise at my side. Saffron reaches over for his black coffee and takes a few sips of it as he returns his gaze to the sketches, contemplating the ideas we’ve submitted to him. He sits his cup back down and reaches over for my printout of Charlie’s logo.

“Look at this” he tells us, leaning over to ge0t closer to Ryan. I lean in too and all three of us stare at the sharp edges and bold curves of the script logo. “This is an old English style font - it’s classic, harks back to darker days when people lived in fear of the superstitions. Underneath that you’re using a modern, sans serif font. You’re bridging the gap between old and new, dated and modern. Your logo is screaming designer gothic fashion to me but your designs tell me that you can’t be bothered doing any research into your market,” he glances up at us both, his eyes flickering from Ryan to me and back again. “I’ll give you some brands to research, Ryan. We can design this shit together.”

“How are we gonna make it though?” I ask, “We were hoping on using a t-shirt printing service.”

A dark laugh ripples into the coffee shop, “Fuck that. I’ll make the clothes myself.” He points to Charlie’s work again. “Look, you have a raven here on this letter. _Quoth the Raven Nevermore._ One of my favourite poems. Let’s take that line and work from there.”

I glance back up at him - there’s something reminiscent of a raven in him. I’m not sure if it’s the black hair and the pale skin or the cold eyes but he’s like a raven in human form.

Saffron is true to his word – a week later, there’s a loud, purposeful knock at my apartment door.

I open it to see the tall young man leaning against the hallway, his arms crossed and a large carrier bag resting at his worn combat boots. He greets me with a smile and a handshake and then I lead him inside, taking his coat from him.

He follows me into the living room where he centres his bag and lowers to his knees – he reaches over on all fours and reaches into the bag, taking out what looks like a roll of fabric and feathers.

“I want your thoughts on this. I’ve only made one piece so far. If you like it, we can go with one item.”

I nod, lowering myself to the floor too. Curiously, I watch as he carefully unfolds the fabric, revealing an old fashioned waistcoat with long tails – it’s like something a French noble would have worn centuries ago. The fabric is beautiful – white with a black damask pattern over it, the pattern lined with silver embroidery thread. Attached to the hem of the waistcoat is a flurry of black feathers and white lace, layered for about five inches or so. I glance up at him, my jaw agape.

“You…made this?” I stammer.

A smile touches his pale lips. “Indeed. I could have made it better quality if I had more time but I know time is of the essence here.”

“Saffron, I…” My eyes fall to the elegant piece of clothing again – it’s stunning under the light. “I’m speechless.”

“I’m glad you like it, Gavin,” he muses softly. “I haven’t shown it to Ryan – he’s so stubborn that he would instantly dismiss it in favour of the shitty t-shirt idea. If you and I can agree then we can go ahead and book a photoshoot and blast on ahead without his consent.”

That doesn’t sound too good but I guess I can understand where’s he’s coming from. I think Ryan would be okay with this stuff though but I guess Saffron knows him better than I do so I don’t question his judgement.

We spend a little while more talking about the project and Saffron’s vision for old meets new before relaxing on the couch and drinking more coffee.

“I’m glad I got to finally meet you. You make Ryan smile and I haven’t seen that for a while,” he tells me.

“I’m glad I’m able to.” I admit. “I wasn’t really keen on a friendship at first but I guess he just had an effect on me,”

“And why is that, if I may ask?” Saffy sips his black coffee as he leans further into the sofa. I shrug. I’m not sure if I should be honest and open up to him or if that’d just be weird. I remember how Ryan mentioned he was broken though so…maybe he’d be able to empathise with me a little bit.

“I…I’m a bit antisocial.” I confess. “I don’t really know how to handle people anymore.”

“Anymore? What happened?” I can feel his eyes on me but I keep my gaze on my own little cup of white coffee.

“I just kinda drifted away from people. I guess I’m too competitive with my photography so people don’t really like to be around me.”

“Ryan likes to be around you. He says you inspire him.” A long strand of raven hair starts being twirled those clawed fingers.

“That’s pretty cool – he kinda inspires me too.”

“Yeah. He showed me some of your photography online – you’re talented. I’m looking forward to working with you.”

“Ryan mentioned you’d done modelling before.”

“Oh yeah. Magazines, promotional images for my band, fashion images for a few brands.”

“What was your band’s name?”

The conversation falls silent.

“I would rather you didn’t know,” he says eventually. “Maybe in the future but not now.”

Okay…

“So, you and Ryan, huh?” A smirk touches his lips as the atmosphere lifts again.

What? I take a few more sips before sitting my cup down and crossing my legs.

“What about us?”

He shakes his head as his smile grows.

“Nothing. I’m just glad you seem to be helping each other grow again. Let’s make plans for this photoshoot.”

“The studio I use is in Glasgow – I can drive us to the train station and pay your train fare.”

“Please.” He laughs quietly. “I can pay my own way, kid.”


	8. Quoth The Raven

I’ve haunted this studio for a few years now since I’d picked up the camera - since I’d figured out how to muck around with my f stops and ISOs. I’ve come a long way from nervously messing around with one light and being terrified to direct the model. Now I’m happy to take charge instantly – the studio and the classroom are probably the only places where I feel pretty confident. After all, in the studio setting, I’m the artist. The model is merely a canvas for me. I have no reason to be nervous in my own turf.

Coffee Bean Studio is on the ninth floor of an old apartment block in Glasgow city centre. From the outside, the building looks like fuck all twice - sad, black windows gaze out from the dark alley into the bright lights of the street before it and dark green moss frames most of the decaying bricks. If I hadn’t learned about the studio’s existence thanks to the internet I’d honestly have forever walked past it, oblivious. Even the first four floors of the building are grimy and graffiti clad. The fifth floor marks the transition from decrepit backdrop for a hip-hop video to a bright, respectable set of businesses. I continue past the large wooden doors that guard each floor’s secrets and head on up to the studio, Saffron a few steps behind me.

“Gavin?” a shaky old voice drifts through in to the foyer as I open the doors on the ninth floor. An audible gasp escapes Saffron as I usher him in, closing the doors behind him. His eyes wander around the blood red carpets and the gold gilt sofas. The place is like a boudoir - all lavish furnishings and scarlet curtains draped over the dark windows.

“This is crazy,” Saffron tells me quietly, his attention turning to the small portraits lining the walls along the foyer towards the studio itself and the office. “So gorgeous.”

I smile at him and begin to head down towards the office.

“Yeah it’s me, Mr McClintock!” I announce, rapping my knuckles twice on the white painted door. It‘s already slightly ajar but it’s incredibly rude to just walk in so I wait a few moments for a response. Suddenly the door swings open as a computer chair flies into view - in it, a small red faced man with wispy blonde hair sits with his knees hunched up to his chest. Mr McClintock is dressed in his usual suit and tie - you might find that a bit weird given the relaxed nature of the studio but he’s super serious about his business. That’s why the foyer is so lavish yet the studio area itself is so…well, open and bare. He gives me a toothy smile as he reaches out for my hand and we exchange pleasantries while Saffron plonks himself on one of the French style sofas, swinging his legs softly off the carpet. Once I have the items I need from him, including our chosen backdrop - white - I motion to Saffron to follow me as we head into the door on the left.

The studio space itself is huge and open plan; a brick-lined room with laminate floors and a rustic, cosy feel to it, despite being so large. Apart from the various studio lights, the backdrops and another one of those red French couches, it’s empty. I tell Saffron where the changing room is while I give Mr McClintock a hand to change the backdrops. When that’s done, he wishes me luck with the shoot and ushers himself out the door, closing it behind him. I quickly set up my lights – it’s second nature to me at this point. I opt for a basic four-point light set up and attend to the open blackout curtains, making sure there’s no ambient light in the room. The only light is the studio bulbs now - they illuminate enough of the area for Saffron to see where he’s going when he comes out. With a stretch and a crack of the old knuckles, I settle down on the sofa and ponder the coming photographs. Saffron is gonna look incredible. I just know it.

The click of a door tells me Saffron is ready - he sweeps out of the changing room gracefully in a flurry of white feathers and black lace coupled with that beautiful waistcoat he’d made from old curtains. He’s attended to the hairstyling - backcombing and teasing it. As he approaches me, I realise he has no issues walking in those huge platform boots we’d chosen earlier – he’d explained on the train that he’d taken a lot of inspiration for this project from Japanese goth fashions and again, platform boots with artistocratic garments further pushed the old and new theme.. He joins me on the sofa, tilting his head as I turn to face him.

“You look great!” I exclaim, scanning over his appearance. I can’t see myself having to do very much model editing on him – he obviously takes good care of himself.

“I don’t know what you want me to do for makeup,” he says.

“Do you need makeup?” I frown. He begins to chuckle.

“You’ve never done a shoot like this before, have you?” he asks me. I confess that most of my work has been with women so I’ve never even considered a guy needing makeup. “Good thing I brought this then,” he motions to the smaller metal case he’s been travelling with. “It’s my makeup. That might sound weird to you but trust me, even a tiny layer of foundation can make your models look fantastic and save you time when you’re editing.” Okay, sure – anything that cuts down my workload is fine by me. He leans over and unclips the lid of the case, revealing a few different products - tubes and bottles, pencils and palettes.

“So, for this entire theme, you guys wanted to portray old and new so we can push it further by going for darkness through light, right?” he asks. I nod. “So I’m thinking couple a dark vampire look with this elegance.”

“Gothic makeup?” I’m a little dubious – I’m not used to seeing men with makeup.

“Trust me.” He pushes the container towards me with his leather clad boot then leans into me, tilting his head back so his face is entirely exposed. His skin is literally porcelain and his eyes are even more beautiful up close. He’s the type of guy that a younger me would have wished I could look like, before I started feeling comfortable in my own skin. “Use me as a canvas. Whatever you scribble onto me, I’ll wipe off and do properly.” Wait, what? Sensing my confusion, he laughs again. “I figure the whole process’ll be more organic if you choose the colours and what not. Slap them on me so I have something to work with, yeah?”

I cast a confused look at the box of products. I have no fucking idea what is what and what they do so I reach over and take out a handful of items, glancing at them in confusion. Primer? Foundation? They both look the same…

“Primer is basically to prep your face for the foundation,” Saffron tells me. “It’s like a base - fills out any pores, gives you an even surface to work with. You don’t need to worry about that kinda stuff. Look,” he reaches down and grabs one of the palettes, opening it and handing it to me. The colours are all monotone from bright whites to jet blacks. “Choose one colours or two, maybe even three, and go for it.”

So I do. I go for heavy black eyeshadow and lean in to him, focusing intently. I’m nervous as fuck doing this – what if I end up poking him in the eye or something? Shit. This black is making his eyes look even more intense. Okay, stop getting distracted, idiot. Just a few more strokes here and -

As I’m almost done, I move the eyeshadow brush away from his face for a few seconds and squint at my handy work. It looks okay, I guess. I blink for a second and he leans in. Just like that.

“Um…” It’s the only word I can muster as he pulls back, tongue running over his bottom lip to taste me again. He tilts his head, winter eyes locked on mine and for a moment, I honestly feel like he’s reading my soul, navigating the depths of my darkness, penetrating the fibres of my being like a demon. As soon as the blood hits my face and I feel myself erupt into a maelstrom of blushing, he bursts out laughing.

“I’m so sorry! I couldn’t resist that. You were just so focused and were concentrating so hard, haha!”

I feign a laugh but I don’t get what’s so funny. Why would you just randomly kiss your friends? I don’t even think we’re at that friends stage yet which makes it even weirder… What the fuck? I can’t react - I don’t know how to so instead I just go on as if nothing happened, even though I want the ground to swallow me up right now.

“Okay, okay,” Saffy nods as soon as I’m finished scribbling all over his face, “so you want me to just focus on heavy blacks, right?”

I nod.

“Consider it done, Gavin.” A pale hand reaches into the container and he pulls out some wipes, cleansing my scribbles from his face. He takes the eyeliner and does the makeup properly and I find myself watching him, almost in a trance like state, as he quickly paints his eyes with confident precision. Once he’s done, he takes the monochrome palette and begins working the black powder in. His icy eyes stand out beautifully against the harsh black. He’s gonna look amazing as a model! I find myself becoming exciting as I realise he’s the first person I’ve ever photographed that has that model look to him. You know what I mean - he looks like someone from a modelling agency rather than someone who’s found my Facebook page and requested some new profile photos. I can’t wait to work my magic on him.

With that, he rises like the dead and takes centre stage in the middle of the backdrop.

“Direct me,” he commands, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

“Raise your right hand towards the camera,” I tell him. The painted black claws will look perfect. “I’ll edit in a bird on your hand if you look at your fingers.” He does as I say. I quickly discover that he’s like plasticine in front of a camera - I can mould and shape him however I want and he doesn’t question it.

Two hours later and fifteen hundred shots logged on my memory card and we head back to the train station. In Kilmarnock, he thanks me for the fun day out and is about to walk off when I offer him a ride home. He obliges and I drop him off before heading back to my flat to start working on these images.

He’s beautiful on the screen of my laptop as I load up the images and have a browse through them. Holy crap. I’m amazed at how much of a difference it makes working with someone who has professional experience. I need to work with him again. Any time I have a college project, if he’s okay with it, I want to focus on him. Even the whole experience felt more organic as he wasn’t wooden like all of the other nervous people I’d photographed.

I load up my Facebook and go into my messages, clicking on Ryan’s profile picture.

“Give me ur thoughts,” I type in to the chat box, “I’ve boosted the contrast to accentuate the sharp blacks and added an ice blue filter, 10% opacity and –“  
None of this digital jargon will make any sense to Ryan, probably, but I’m too excited. Once I’ve described every edit I’ve done to the image set, I attach six of the images, including close ups, full body shots and waist ups. 

“Gavin…” a pause as he types. I feel a little bit nervous as I recall that Saffy never showed him the clothing. Success though as the words appear on the screen; “That is fucking amazing holy shit!!!”

“He said he never showed u the outfit so I dunno what u think of it”

“I designed the damn thing, lol, its not the colors I would have picked but it still looks gr8”

I sit for a few moments, unsure of what to say next. Part of me wants to mention Saffron’s weird action in the studio but I don’t want Ryan to laugh at me.

College is uneventful for a few days as Ryan and I put all our work together, combining our two separate sketchbooks into one A3 one, both of us scribbling our thoughts and notes on the printed out images and cut outs of the sketches. I print out another copy of Charlie’s logo, laminate it at the local library and slap it on the front with double sided sticky tape.

Re:Style. A Metamorphosis of Recycled Fabrics. Gavin Ashmore and Ryan Speirs, HND.

As I’m sticking in the final print outs of the photoshoot with Saffron, I smooth them in with my hand and begin to flick through the final book. It’s organised, organic, looks good. Ryan’s even stuck in some fabric samples from those old curtains and a few other bits of old materials and feathers. Most of the book is his sketches and samples but my photography at the end just ties it all together. I’m proud. We’ve done well together.

Monday comes and I’m heading up the tree lined path to enter the college building, sketchbook in hand. I’m gonna meet up with Ryan at lunch today and we’re gonna go over our progress with Adriano to get his thoughts. We still have a week before the final presentation but we just want some final feedback while we still have time to alter the small things.

As I’m wandering up, head full of daydreams about future possible projects with Ryan and Saffy, I catch sight of Ryan up ahead at the college doors with a kid I’ve seen around college - he’s pretty recognisable with his black and purple hair. His hair matches his galaxy printed jeans. Not really surprised they’re friends, if I’m honest. I’m about to give Ryan a shout to get his attention when he leans into the purple kid, kissing him shyly before the pair head indoors. 

My heart stops. I don’t know why. I feel sick, so very sick. I stop in my tracks and take a deep breath. What am I feeling? I’ve never been upset or offended in the slightest by gay couples before, male or female but now I’m feeling…something and I don’t understand it. I shake my head and proceed up the path to college. The quicker the morning class goes by, the quicker I can talk to Ryan.


	9. Does it matter?

“Gavin? Are you paying attention?”

Adriano’s voice breaks my daydream. Well, it’s not really a daydream - more like my mind is switching off to swim in an abyss of confused anxiety. My stomach is aching from the butterflies swarming around my guts, my head beginning to pound slowly in contrast to my racing heart. I’ve been gazing out the window at the trees gently swaying in the November breeze. I can’t stop replaying this morning’s event in my head and I want it to stop. Why does it matter if Ryan sees someone as more important than me - I’m just a friend… But I hate knowing that probably during all our drunken banter and creative get-togethers, his mind was elsewhere. It frustrates me to the core and I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve been betrayed. Is this how friendships work? Is this why people get pissy when their best friends get a girlfriend or boyfriend? Am I supposed to feel this way? I have no idea. No, brain. It’s time to shut the fuck up and stop replaying the kiss. Fuck off.

  
I turn my hazel eyes to Adriano and see him leaning against the whiteboard with his arm folded across his chest. He’s opted for a white shirt today instead of his usual black one and matched it with a pair of brown chinos. His eyes are fixed on me so I take a deep breath, feeling the eyes of the collective classroom upon me and apologise for spacing out. He tells me I need to get more sleep and I laugh half-heartedly. I probably do need more sleep but that’s no one else’s concern save for my own.

  
As scheduled, Ryan is waiting for me in the canteen. No sign of the purple haired kid. Weird. I shuffle over to him and pull a chair, dropping myself into it across from him. Doesn’t look like he’s eating today - he has an open can of energy juice but no food carton or wrappers anywhere in sight. He smiles at me and reaches down underneath the table - when his hands return to view, they’re holding one of his sketchbooks, which he sets down on the table gently with a dull thud.

“You okay?” he asks me, tilting his head, “you look kinda…shitty today.”

Really, dude?

“Thanks,” I mutter. Ryan chuckles and opens his sketchbook. He begins flicking through the pages. No way to get around this - gotta just get it out in the open. “So…you’re seeing someone?”

He glances up at me, pausing on the page he’s on. “Yeah,” he tells me, “another photography student.”

Fuck. I feel like I’ve just been jabbed in the stomach with hot needles.

“Oh.” It’s the only sound I can muster. A photography student? Then why the fuck didn’t you collaborate with him on this project?

As if he’s read my mind, he answers me, “He’s only an NQ student - just starting out. He’s nowhere near your level.”

“He?” What is with these forced one word questions? They just fall out of my mouth before my brain can filter my thoughts.

Ryan nods, his gaze falling back to his sketchbook. I let my eyes follow and I notice the page he’s opened at - a beautifully vibrant pride flag is splashed across the page in watercolour. There’s a black line drawing over it but I can’t make out what it is from this angle.

“Sorry. Guess I should have been honest with you from the beginning, huh?” All the mirth has faded from his voice. “I didn’t think it was a big deal but I…I didn’t want you to feel weird about being best friends with a gay guy. I mean, knowing what you do now, would you honestly still get drunk with me and let me stay over?” He sighs, running a finger over the painting in his sketchbook. “I didn’t wanna lose your friendship but I should have just been honest.”

Ryan… Fuck sake. You honestly think it’d change anything?

“I might be an arsehole,” I tell him, “but I’m not a fucking arsehole. You being gay literally means nothing to me.” It’s a lie - it does mean something to me but I don’t know what. I don’t have a problem with his sexuality but the thought of someone getting more attention than I do is driving me up the wall. I’m a selfish bastard and I know that. I’ve never denied my arrogance but there’s no way I can ever explain the way I’m feeling to him without him feeling even more confused. “Dude, it’s the twenty first century - love is love.” I shrug as if it’s nothing but the small smile creeping over his face as he stares at his painting tells me it means the world to him.

“I made the right decision with you,” his words are quiet but he nods and returns his gaze to mine. “I don’t know why I decided you were best friend material but I’m glad I did.”

“Oh, I’m best friend now? I’ve been promoted?”

“Only friend, more like.”

“So what’s the deal with the boyfriend then?”

“Joshua Telfer. He lives down the road from me. Met him when we were waiting at the same bus stop. I thought it was awesome to meet a fellow creative who wasn’t a pretentious prick.”

 _And then you met me_.

The more I think about it, Ryan must only see Josh at college. He spends most of his free time either with me directly or talking to me on social media.

“I’ve seen him around college,” I tell him, “but never paid much attention to him. Kinda like his hair though, I guess.”

“Well, he knows exactly who you are,” Ryan laughs, “dude, he fucking idolises you.” Gross. “I think his entire class idolise you ever since Adriano showed them your portfolio from last year.” Good. Let that fucker know I’m superior. “Anyway, speaking of photography, let’s get this evaluation written up.”

And just like that, the conversation moves on. I still don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about Ryan’s sexuality. It’s not an issue but…fuck Josh Telfer. I’m angry that he’s went for a photographer. I don’t know why but I guess I feel like I have to compete with this brat now. There’s that old competitive streak again… Fuck my life.

The afternoon class brings with it a little more comfort. I’m still not happy about the Josh situation and I’m angry at myself for even thinking that I have any right to feel like this in the first place, but at least I managed to ask Ryan about it. Not that we cleared the air much but at least I managed to make him smile again.

_Knowing what you do now, would you honestly still get drunk with me and let me stay over?_

Those words keep repeating in my mind. He thought I was gonna discard him? Tell him to go fuck himself and get up and leave? Nah, man. His energy has infected me and I’m producing my best work with his creative mind to bounce my ideas off of. No way in hell I’d ever jeopardise this friendship but then maybe that’s what Ryan was afraid of - that by coming out to me, he’d be the one putting us at risk. Thing is though, everyone accepts nowadays, right? Maybe not… For a second, my mum’s face flashes through my mind and I wince. If I was gay, would I really wanna come out to her? I guess maybe not everyone has the same attitudes… Still, I know our friendship is in its infancy but I feel kinda shitty that Ryan even considered I’d shun him. He knows me better than that…or so I hope. He honestly thought he’d lose me?

  
I don’t get it but I will get it. I need to be the best friend I can possibly be.

Time passes. Days turn to weeks. The elephant in the room is long gone, as if I’d always known about Josh. Ryan never talks about him and I very rarely see the pair together - maybe once a week at college. It’s as if the conversation never happened.

  
December comes with a sudden burst of snow and a new assignment. One word is all I’m given: vulnerability. Instantly the class ignites with chatter about elderly relatives or young siblings but only one thing comes to my mind: Ryan Speirs. I have an idea but it’ll only work with his permission and to photograph something like this…he may not be comfortable with letting me get that close to him.


	10. Snowfall

That familiar and somehow cosy sound of snow crunching under our feet seems to almost echo in the quiet streets. Unblemished snow lies like a frozen blanket over the rooftops and the usual grey concrete of the roads and paths is replaced with blinding white. Above us, the dark sky is beginning to show the palest of greys as the winter sun struggles to make an appearance.

It’s so weird to be awake and out in the streets at this time - 6:30am, especially on a Saturday morning, and it’s still pitch black save for that sliver of the coming day streaking through in the far distance. As for how we ended up out this early, Ryan said a super early walk would do us some good and he wants to get some inspiration for a painting idea he has so I caved and set an alarm for 6am. He’s probably gonna spend the day at my place.

In the morning air, Ryan looks pure, fresh faced and bright eyed. All his little blemishes are present, if you can even call them that - the freckles dotted all over his tanned skin, the rose blush brought on by the crisp December air. I’m surprised he’s wearing so little - a baggy light grey jumper with a white cross on it coupled with tight jeans and army boots. He seems to be enjoying the cold though. As for me, it’s a black jumper, a black hoody, black jeans and my old faux fur trapper hat.

Down the path I’d taken him that fateful Halloween night, we walk side by side, Ryan with a slight skip in his step as he inhales deeply, enjoying the air. In the distance, some early morning dog walkers are already up and about - their dogs are off their leashes and playing with each other in the refreshing air.

I lead him to the same bench we usually drink at and we sit in quiet serenity enjoying each other’s company until I break the ice.

“You never talk about Josh,” the words fall out of my mouth before I even realise it. Instantly my body feels cold as a chill of panic tickles up my spine. Ryan looks up at me, blue eyes blazing under the pretty winter sun. He doesn’t seem surprised by my question. Those thick, dark lashes flicker to the gravel at our feet as he responds,

“Yeah, I know.” That’s it. No explanation or excuse. I watch his attention turn back to the dogs chasing each other down in the frosty grass, barking excitedly as they run circles around each other. Kinda feels like us - I’m trying to find out about their relationship and he runs circles around me, toying with me.

“How come?” I ask him, too curious to let it go. “You guys okay or…?”

“We’re fine I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Yup.”

“Okay… I just thought I’d ask, see how you’re doing.”

I’m about to change the conversation topic when out of the azure blue:

“He knows my mind is always elsewhere so we’re probably gonna break up soon.”

What? The way he says it so calmly, as if it’s nothing important, catches me off guard.

“You just said you were fine?” I ask him, “but that doesn’t seem fine to me.”

He shrugs, “I’m fine with breaking up, yeah. He’s not right for me. Doesn’t inspire me.”

_But I do, right?_

I nod, turning my own gaze to the playful dogs.

“I haven’t seen you happy for a while,” I confess. “not the way you used to be, anyway.”

“Yeah, he noticed it too. It’s best for both of us if we go our separate ways.”

I nod once more.

“So…who do you wanna be with, if not him?” I don’t know where the question comes from but it escapes the darkness of my mind. Ryan stares straight ahead as he shrugs again.

“What I want doesn’t matter,” his voice falls quietly into the morning air, “all I want is for him to be happy.” The way he emphasises the “him” tells me he’s not talking about Josh.

“So the project is about vulnerability,” I tell him, changing the subject, “and I had a random idea but I need to get your permission obviously.”

His laughter blossoms into the quiet woodland. “I’m scared,” he jokes. “What exactly are you planning to do with me?”

“Nothing,” I assure him, “but…well, you’re an artist. I’ve heard you’re a great artist,” he absorbs the compliment with a smile, “but I haven’t seen your paintings. I’ve worked with you on other projects but I’ve never seen you paint.”

He nods, taking in my words.

“So you want to photograph me painting?”

“If you’re okay with that. I’ve heard it can be a very intimate process for artists.”

His tone changes suddenly. “I’m dark when I paint,” his words flutter into the dark morning like a flock of bats, “I’m intense and I’m brutal to myself. I don’t know if you wanna see that.”

“I want to see all of you,” I confess. “You’re my best friend.”

“Gavin…I…” he raises his arms to his knees and buries his head in his hands, “I throw myself at a painting completely. Blood, sweat and tears and I’m not saying that to be poetic. I’ve used my own blood in my paint before. My own tears. Anything to make the painting a part of me.”

“It’d be your most vulnerable,” I muse, “and I’d be honoured if you’d share it with me.”

“It’s the part of me you’ve never seen, Gav. I don’t know if you’ll want to see it.”

“I do.”

“Then you’ll be the only one to see me like that. I lock myself away when I paint.”

I feel myself beginning to turn red as I reach down into my bag, taking out our sandwiches. Tomato, lettuce and sweetcorn on dairy-free bread for him; egg salad on the same bread for me. I’ve never tried it before but I’m pleasantly surprised as I take a bite - it tastes pretty much the same as what I’m used to.

“I love winter,” Ryan tells me suddenly, changing the subject. “What’s your favourite season?”

“Autumn.”

“Any reason?”

“Halloween, the colours in the trees, scarfs and jumpers, pumpkin spice coffees and darker nights.”

“Mmm,” I reckon the noise is supposed to be agreement - his mouth is full of sandwich. As he swallows, he tells me “good reasons.”

“And your reasons for Winter?”

“Ice.” Weird answer. “Before Saffron had his band, he wanted to be a figure skater. I used to watch him practice and we both dreamed of getting to the Olympics and gliding to the top. Never happened though.”

“Because of his band?”

He nods. “Mom got pissed when Saffy gave it up because she was paying for the best coach in the state,” he laughs. “He used to practice on ice every single day, twice or three times whenever he had free time from school. He tried to get me skating but my balance was so bad so I used to watch him from the sidelines. I kinda miss it.”

“There’s an ice rink in town if guys ever wanna practice again.”

“I don’t know if Saffy would even consider going professional now - he’s been out of it for too many years but I’m sure he’d like to lose himself on the ice again. Winter, ice, snow, everything, all makes me feel so free because it reminds me of better times in our lives.” I stare at him, enjoying his smile as he reminisces. “Y’know, when I’m out here in the frost and the ice, it’s like my spirit is soaring through frostbitten clouds and I love it.” I’m too busy gazing at him in awe to even notice the snow he’s slyly gathering in his furthest hand. “You know what I love even more though?” That’s when it hits me - the snowball. The sudden freezing sends shivers down my spine as I blink at him in disbelief as he grins, “Snowball fights! Come on, nerd!” he yells playfully as he leaps to his feet and dashes over between the trees. I watch as he bends down, gathering more snow for ammunition. He launches another missile at me, narrowly missing me. Oh, it’s fucking on!

I take him on, launching snowball after snowball at each other like a pair of carefree kids, chasing each other around the hill for five minutes or so until I tackle him playfully.

Bad idea in the dim light.

We both slip in the snow and I knock him off his feet. In a second, we go from carrying on like idiots to tumbling down the side of the embankment, patches of green and white blurring together as we roll together. I panic that I’ve hurt him but as we land onto more soft snow, he bursts out laughing. I’m about to get up off of him but our eyes meet and the laughter fades.

Time stops.

No breath escapes my lips. No blood rushes through my veins. No heart beats in my chest. I’m frozen by this winter gaze, captured like a thrall by this prince of ice. No, Ryan isn’t a prince - he’s a king. Those blue gems are unblinking yet full of emotion as he gazes up at me, caramel skin framed by raven hair polarised by the ghostly snow.

I can see the stardust in his eyes like the twinkling lights of ships on a distant horizon, lost under the midnight skies yet trying so hard to remain visible, to near the shore. I can see it all: the broken dreams and regrets, the pain that hides behind a mask of carefree joy. I can see his true colours, his aura: indigo.

Who broke you, Ryan?

An anchor suddenly drops from my soul, unbearable chains thrusting me down to the depths of his ocean. He’s been hurt. He’s been hurt so fucking badly and he can’t hide it as well as he thinks he can. I need to help him but what the fuck can I do when I don’t even know what’s happened.

There’s two Ryan’s. One is sunlight: the happy-go-lucky kid I’ve grown fond of, and the other is moonlight: quiet, sad, emotions pouring from his brush strokes like snow falling from bleeding black skies. The young man I befriended and the young man lying underneath me now seem different but they’re one and the same. Two sides of the same coin. He…gives me hope.

What the fuck, Gavin. I shouldn’t be describing him like this. I’m confused yet so lost in this moment. I feel sick, anxiety bubbling up from the pit of my stomach like a frothy concoction of guilt and fear yet Ryan’s presence calms me. His smile is the most serene thing in the park right now. His eyes, so deep, like endless mandalas, hypnotising almost - shades of grey bleed into the warmest blues like azure oceans hidden away in the tropics. So handsome. I reach over to run a hand through that raven hair, to caress his icy cheeks, to lean down and -

Stop!

I snap back to reality as a voice in my head screams at me. What the absolute fuck am I doing?! Fucking idiot.

I’m about to sit up off of him when his arms snake around my shoulders. My heart goes into overdrive, pounding in my chest like someone jogging on gravel. Is he gonna be the one to…?

He reaches up and yanks my trapper hat off.

“This is mine now, okay?” he chuckles as he pulls the faux fur over his hair. “Mm, so cosy!” His hands pull at the fuzzy baubles as he grins at me, scrunching up his nose. He’s fucking oblivious to my scenario. He’s legitimately clueless that I almost made a move on him.

Thank fuck.

I let out a silent sigh as the snow begins to lightly fall on us. I can’t do this.

“Are you okay?” Ryan’s voice meets my ear as we head back to my flat. “You’ve been kinda quiet since I stole your hat. You want it back?” His tone is mocking, joking but there’s an edge of genuine concern blanketed in there somewhere. I play it off, giving him a toothy grin and explaining that I’m not really a morning person so it’s weird to be wandering around at 10am.

“Plus,” I admit, “I’m kinda worried about your clothes.” Rye tilts his head curiously towards me. “Dude, you’ll be fucking freezing after lying in that snow, haha.” It’s a fake laugh, so hollow and vapid. I can’t stop replaying that moment in the park in my head. I wonder what would have happened if I had lost my self-control, my self-awareness. What would be the repercussions? Not that I’m about to find out now - the moment came and went. It’s behind us now. Fucking hell, Gavin, stop worrying about it. Nothing happened.


End file.
